


Echo

by mspotterlovegood



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Dark Magic, Everyone Is Alive, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gryffindor!Diggle, Gryffindor!Laurel, Gryffindor!Roy, Gryffindor!Thea, House Rivalry, Hufflepuff!Tommy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Ravenclaw!Felicity, Robert Queen is Evil, Slytherin!Nyssa, Slytherin!Oliver, Slytherin!Sara, dark!Oliver, underage sexual tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mspotterlovegood/pseuds/mspotterlovegood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen, Slytherin heir to his pure-blooded families legacy, finds his world quickly and completely turned around when a blond, muggle-born Ravenclaw girl by the name Felicity Smoak takes hold of his attention, making him question everything his father has been training him for. Together, they unravel a plan that puts both Wizards and Muggles alike in danger. </p><p>Stand-Alone Fic turned Multi-Chapter. Ratings change with Chapter releases. Will more than likely end up either Mature or Explicit by mid-plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Riddle

Felicity had anticipated getting completely wasted tonight. In fact, she had been depending on it.

The word “stressed” did not seem fitting as a means to accurately describe the rock sitting in her stomach or the way her brain felt like it was running out of hard drive space. Once you add in the shaking hands and numerous anxiety attacks, Felicity was fairly convinced she was having some kind of internal nervous breakdown that had yet come to the surface. The cracks were beginning to show, however, considering she had not one, not two but three detentions in one solid week. Felicity and detentions don’t go together. Felicity and the words “5 points from Ravenclaw” definitely _did not go together_. Yet they had. Multiple times. It got to the point where charms professor Nightingale had pulled her to the side and recommended she go see the potions master for a Calming Drought. Felicity had smiled, adjusted her glasses and told Professor Nightingale that she would think about it, but then she heard about the private, invite-only sixth year party taking place in the Room of Requirement and decided that it sounded a lot more fun than choking down a potion that tasted like liquefied lemon rind.  
Felicity knew in the back of her head it was a bad idea. She knew it the moment she snuck out of the Ravenclaw common room and saw the Lance sisters, Queens of the Firewhiskey, waiting for her with those mischievous twinkles in their eyes. She should have spent the night studying and working on her charms. Yet she went along with it anyway, and here she was, standing in front of the Ravenclaw common room, paying the price.

She had forgotten about the riddle.

Felicity wanted to slap herself in the head for this. She really, really wanted to. The eagle knocker awaited her, mocking her with its mere presence. “Frack,” she muttered under her breath. The thing was going to ask her a riddle, and while in most scenarios Felicity loved figuring them out (she was known as one of the best riddle solvers in Ravenclaw, mostly due to her fierce hatred of all things mysterious), this was one of the rare instances that she wished she had a normal common room like every other house, and not one that tested her wit and intelligence regardless of alcohol levels. Why couldn’t they put a breathalyzer in front of the door and then determine the difficulty of the riddle?

 _Oh, right,_ she thought miserably to herself, _muggle technology._

Taking a deep breath, Felicity began to walk towards the Eagle with as much boldness as she could muster.

“Alright Felicity,” she said to herself aloud, “time for a pep talk. You got this, girl. You can do this. Remember that Gryffindor at the party? Totally was into you, even after you went on a rant about how weird goblin feet are. And you absolutely destroyed Diggle in wizard chess, and you managed to walk up an entire flight of stairs without falling. You are on a roll. You are the Felix Felicis of the night. You--”

Suddenly, she felt her knee give way, and gravity took hold on her. Stumbling, she crashed into the eagle knocker full-force, catching herself from falling but feeling her glasses slip off her face and onto the floor.

 _Freakin’ kangaroo’s,_ she thought to herself, groaning. Trying to fight off the dizziness, she slowly tried to bend down to get her glasses, using a hand on the Eagle as leverage, but her touch had awoken the statue and brought it to life.  
It’s voice boomed in her ear and she felt something invisible grip her insides.

 _“Many have heard me,_  
_but no one has seen me,_  
_and I will not speak back,_  
_unless spoken to._

_What am I?”_

“Pretty sure that’s some sort of weird metaphor for my life,” Felicity said, unknowingly thinking aloud.

“That answer is incorrect,” drawled the Eagle.

“Well at least you think so,” said Felicity, until realization hit her and she turned so quickly towards the door she nearly fell down again from dizziness.

“Wait! WAIT! That wasn’t my answer!” She spoke frantically, “I don’t _actually_ think it’s a metaphor for my life!” But the Eagle had gone still once more.

“No! Oh, frack, _come on_! Are you seriously going to lock me out!?” Silence met her cries. She groaned in frustration. “I can’t believe this. You know what? You--YOU--” She poked the Eagle violently, “--are on now on par with my hatred for Kangaroo’s. I hope you can live with yourself.”

It appeared that the magical door could indeed, for it did not respond or react to her. Sighing, Felicity buried her face in her hands. This was not how she wanted this night to end. There was no way now that she would get into the common room, not unless there was a fellow Ravenclaw wandering the halls after curfew. Which wasn’t the wildest of notions, she’d bet her life on a handful of Ravenclaws were scattered through the castle. They weren’t exactly known for strictly following Hogwarts rules, many of them preferred to live by their own standards, a trait they shared with Slytherin, though they were often driven by different motives. Thus, the only option left was to wait for someone to come. Student or teacher. She prayed it wouldn’t be the latter. She wasn’t sure her house would forgive her if she lost them any more points this week. 

Taking out her wand, she flicked her wrist.

“Accio glasses,” she said, and they flew to her open free hand.

 _Should’ve just done that to begin with_ , she thought to herself bitterly.

Her vision became clear once more as she tucked them into place. Her head was beginning to hurt now--throb, even. She needed to sit down. Perhaps if she waited downstairs, she’d be more likely to catch a glimpse of any passing Ravenclaws. Taking a deep breath, she started down the circular stairwell, one hand placed on the wall for balance.While the party had calmed her, and it had been a night of fun and very, very attractive boys, a sense of regret was beginning to seep through as reality set in. Not only was she definitely screwed in the sleep department, she would more than likely get caught by a teacher, get an unpleasant scolding, points taken, and deal with a mind-numbing hangover the next morning, and she really, really did not want to see Sara Lance’s smirking face when she would ask her for a Hangover Elixir.

She could hear Sara’s voice now: “ _You’re such a cute lightweight_ ,” she’d tease. _Ugh._ At least she made it down the staircase without falling ( _Thank you, steadying charm_ ). Yay for walking. Little celebrations.

On the last step, Felicity went to the side of the stairwell entrance and leaned her back on the Castle’s walls, sliding down to sit, legs curled up in front of her chest as she rested her chin on her knees. She was sobering up now, unfortunately. She closed her eyes, willing her headache to subside, but to no avail. The still and quietness around her made her drowsy, and she didn't realize just how tired she was until she  _stopped_ and breathed. It had been a long few weeks. After this, if she managed to survive past her O.W.L.S, she was going to sleep for at  _least_ a year. 

 _Sleep,_ she thought,  _that sounds nice right now..._

Her eyes felt unnaturally heavy, and the Castle's hums and vibrations began to lull her into slumber. She felt herself fading away when--

“Rough night?” A voice said, causing her to gasp, glasses going askew as her head snapped up in surprise. A man, a very familiar man, stood in front of her, a grin on his face. Alarmingly tall and older looking, she immediately assumed he was a Professor of some sort.

“I can explain,” she hurried to speak, “I’m not buzzed.”

The man cocked an eyebrow at her and she mentally kicked herself in the head.

“I mean, of course I’m not buzzed--why would I be buzzed? It’s a school night, and after hours, and I am definitely not drunk or buzzed and did not attend any kind of partying tonight to try to destress from exams. In fact, I was--I was in the _library_. Yes, the library,” she took a breath, “studying for my O.W.L.S, because, you know, _wow_ , four days left, right? Totally _not_ terrifying. So, I was in the library, and I lost track of time, and I ended up here, but I was tired, and I kind of tripped over air, which happens. It was _probably_ peeves. In fact, I think I remember hearing him laughing at me. So yeah, it was definitely peeves. He tripped me, I fell, glasses on the floor,” she motioned the entire story with her hands, hoping it would somehow help, “everything ruined. Bam, Eagle woke up, asked me a riddle and it was a _very_ offensive riddle, let me tell you. And I kind of got it wrong. But not on purpose, because I’m very good at solving things. Except rubix cubes. I hate those. But I messed it up, and the Eagle hates me, and now I’m down here waiting for someone to let me in, and…” She dared look up at him, wincing at her own lies, guilt written all over her face. Whatever she was doing was not working, as he was now staring at her with one eyebrow crooked, his head tilted to the side, with an expression that clearly read: _She’s crazy._

Felicity bit her lip.

“Please don’t punish my House because of me,” she asked, voice barely above a murmur. “I’ll take detention in the Forbidden Forest if I have to.” She meant it, no matter how much she hated the Forbidden Forest, she had lost Ravenclaw enough house points this week.

A beat of silence went between them, and Felicity came to the conclusion that her request would be refused, but then--

“I’m not going to take any house points away,” the man said, his voice gentle.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” said Felicity, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She gulped. “Detention, then?” she asked.

“I’m not going to give you detention, either,” he replied, the grin from earlier creeping back onto his face.

“You’re… not?”

“No, I’m not,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. It was then that Felicity noticed that the man was wearing regular student clothing, rather than Professor robes, bright green fabric woven through the grey of his school sweater. While no Slytherin house patch could be seen, the colors gave away his house.

“You’re… not a Professor,” she said flatly, leaning her head against the wall. If possible, the man’s smile grew even wider and he nodded, almost apologetically.

“Way to go, Smoak,” she mumbled to herself, rubbing her eyes under her glasses. “I’m sorry, I must have sounded like a total idiot just now.”

“Do I really look that old?” he asked, amusement in his tone. She opened one eye to look at him, and realized he was, really, quite handsome. Much more so than the boys she had met at the party earlier. There was a maturity about him, a confidence in his stance that betrayed the gentleness of his eyes. And that smile…

“No, you look attractive--” she stopped, catching herself and shaking her head. “I said not attractive, right? I mean, not that you aren’t attractive, I just--okay, this isn’t going well for me, is it?”

“I don’t know, I feel like it’s going great for me,” the stranger gloated, placing both of his hands in his front pants pockets and rocking back on his heels, his demeanor relaxing.

“Glad I can amuse you,” she shot with a glare, suddenly annoyed by his presence.

“So, you got locked out of your common room because you couldn’t solve a riddle?” He asked.

“Yes,” she responded, rubbing her right temple with a forefinger.

“I thought Ravenclaws were suppose to be _smart_?”

Whatever buzz was left in her was gone after that. Playfulness was evident in his voice, but Felicity felt anger rise within her at the jab. 

“Don’t you have something better to do than insult me? Like, oh, I don’t know--sacrifice an innocent or go hang out with your ex-Death Eater buddies?” She said coolly, though the fire in her words were hot enough to cause him to frown, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly.

A part of her regretted the words immediately, but another part of her wanted to go toe-to-toe with the Slytherin. A hand still firmly on her wand, her breath hitched in her throat when the man took a step towards her, and she half expected a hex to get thrown her way. Yet, none came. Instead, the man’s face softened, and he looked---guilty?

“I asked for that, didn’t I?” he said, voice faint. Shaking his head, he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Felicity’s mouth hinged open in shock. Was a Slytherin apologizing to her? She knew she shouldn’t be so judgmental, having a handful of friends in that house, but still, even they hardly said sorry, and if they did, it was usually thinly veiled.

“It’s… it’s alright,” she exhaled. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.” 

He shrugged.

“Wasn’t the first time I’ve heard something like that.”

Okay, now she _definitely_ felt horrible.

“Oh, no, don’t look at me like that,” he said. She raised her eyebrows in question.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some puppy you feel bad about correcting. Seriously,” he bent forward into an almost bow, lowering his voice and giving her a smile that could only be classified as charming. “You didn’t hurt my feelings.”

Felicity didn’t even notice her facial expression! And that look he was giving her… she felt a shiver go up her spine. _Damn Slytherins_ , she thought.

“Oliver Queen,” he said, holding out his hand. The name rang a bell, a very loud bell. Oliver Queen… She thought he looked vaguely familiar! She didn’t know much about the Queen’s outside of what the Lance sisters had told her about them. They had hung out with him before, evidently, and Laurel and him had dated for some time, before Felicity became friends with her. From what she could remember Sara and Laurel telling her, the Queen’s were a wealthy, pure-blooded and highly regarded wizarding family with a single successor, who was now standing right in front of her and waiting awkwardly for a response. She considered his hand for a moment. It appeared coarse, with a few obvious scars near his knuckles, and was substantially bigger than her own. In fact, she was certain his hand could easily encompass most of her waist. She tried not to think of what his hand might feel like doing just that when she took it in hers, the roughness of his palm scratchy against her softer skin.

“Felicity Smoak,” she said, giving him a small grin and shaking his hand, adjusting her glasses up her nose with the other.

“Mind if I sit with you?” Oliver motioned towards an empty spot next to her. She nodded, scooching over though there was already plenty of room. He crouched down next to her before sliding down, one long leg sprawled out and the other curled up, his elbow resting on it.

“This is… comfortable,” he said, feigning sincerity.

“Don’t worry, sit here long enough and you’ll eventually feel a pleasant numbness and your spine silently screaming,” she said.

Oliver laughed, which made Felicity smile. He had a nice, throaty laugh that met his eyes.

“So, are you really stuck here?” He asked.

“Yeah, until another Ravenclaw comes along, anyway,” Felicity said with a sigh. “Which sucks, because I wasn’t lying about the whole being locked out of my common room ‘cause of a stupid riddle thing.”

“Just the buzzed part, right?” He said playfully.

“And the Peeves part,” she added.

“Really? I actually believed that. I can see Peeves tripping some poor, tired and intoxicated student.”

“Nope, I don’t need any help with that, it seems. And intoxicated is such a harsh word,” she said, mocking offense. “Can’t we just leave it at the ‘poor’ and ‘tired’ parts? ‘Cause I feel like those would help out my case a whole lot more if a Professor finds us here.”

“Alright,” he chuckled. “Out of curiosity, what was the riddle?” Felicity groaned. “A very, very easy one.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me.”

Felicity cleared her throat and did her best impersonation of the Eagle she could muster, including an attempt at its elegant British accent.

“ _Many have heard me,_  
_but no one has seen me,_  
_and I will not speak back,_  
_unless spoken to._

 _What am I?_ ”  
  
Oliver snickered. “Please talk like that all the time.”

“Pretty sure I’d be the first Ravenclaw ever to be expelled if I did that,” Felicity giggled.

“Well, that riddle doesn’t sound too tough…” he muttered, rubbing the scruff on his chin.

“Pfft, no offense, but you don’t look like someone who solves things. This face?” she pointed at herself, circling her finger around, “ _This_ is the face of a riddle solver. A _good_ one.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, flashing her a white-toothed grin.

“So good, she got locked out of her own common room, right?”

“That Eagle had it out for me,” Felicity grumbled.

“That excuse probably won’t work if a Professor catches us.”

“I could just say I was with you all night--” Felicity began, catching herself far too late, a blush crawling up her neck as she attempted to do damage control. “--I mean, not like _that_ kind of with you--like I mean--I mean like with you as a friend, not _with you_ \--”

He tilted his head at her, beaming at her in a way that made her blush even more.

“I’m going to stop talking now,” she said, hiding most of her face behind her knees, curling tighter into her ball as though she might disappear completely. He chuckled, leaning back into the wall.

“Pretty high expectations you have for a Slytherin if you think I would get pulled under the bus with you on this one.”

She glowered him from the corner of her eyes. “I don’t have to be a Ravenclaw to know that all houses, including Slytherin, are suppose to be in bed right now. Plus…” she paused for a moment, breaking her gaze away from him. “Something tells me I can trust you.”

The smile on Oliver’s face slipped away as her words sank into the air, a silence growing between them. Strangely, Felicity didn’t mind it much. She had said the truth. She didn’t know him from Adam, but he didn’t come off as the kind of person who would give her up to a Professor. She could be wrong, of course, but she felt like she was a fairly good judge of character. Regardless, the company was nice, and she hoped she hadn’t said something wrong. She decided to change the subject.

“Sooo… if you don’t mind me asking, why are you out here so late?” she inquired, trying to end the quiet. It worked, because the sound of her voice broke him out of his reverie.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, voice quiet. “Just needed to get out of the common room, I guess.”

“Worried about the upcoming O.W.L.S., too?”

He hesitated to answer. “Something like that.”

Felicity searched his features. She was quite sure he was lying to her, but she didn’t know him well enough to call him out on that. Somehow, she knew that whatever it was that was keeping him from sleep was probably more serious than school exams. Without thinking, she put a reassuring hand on his knee, rubbing her thumb up against it. His body tensed at first, and he snapped his head to stare at her, surprised. “I hope it gets better, whatever it is,” she said, and she meant it.  
She watched his Adam’s apple give a marginal bob, and his muscles relax underneath her hand. 

“Thank you,” whispered Oliver softly.

They gazed at each other for a moment, and Felicity found herself not wanting to look away. His mouth began to open, about to say something else, then--

 “Felicity?” a familiar, female voice echoed through the halls. Felicity immediately retracted her hand as though it were on fire, both of their attentions torn away towards the source of the noise. Sara Lance, along with Nyssa, her girlfriend, and another girl, were walking together towards the duo. Sara had one arm swung around Nyssa, who appeared the most sober out of the three, while the third girl, someone Felicity didn’t know, struggled to walk straight, a Ravenclaw tie wrapped around the top of her head. Felicity hadn’t heard them coming, and neither did Oliver, apparently. She noticed as he shifted a bit farther away from her. She frowned.  
“What are you doing still out? You left the party like, an hour ago!” asked Sara, her face a rosy pink. Sara never got drunk, no matter how much liquor she consumed, which meant her being tipsy was quite the impressive feat. Before Felicity could respond (which she was grateful for), Sara stopped in her tracks, analyzing the man next to her.

“Oliver? What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

Felicity couldn’t tell since he was facing away, but by the way his posture changed, she deduced that something was wrong, though she didn’t know what. The thought gripped her insides unexpectedly.

“Nothing,” he said tonelessly. “Just keeping her company. She got locked out of her common room, apparently.”

“What a gentleman! Lucky you,” Sara winked at Felicity.

“What?” Felicity blabbered, “Sara, no, don’t even--”

“We’re just friends,” Oliver interrupted, sparing Felicity the need to speak further. He then pointed towards the third girl in the trio, the one that Felicity didn’t know. “Is she a Ravenclaw, too?”

“Yeah, we were just walking her back to--Oh!” Sara exclaimed, suddenly swinging forward (Nyssa, who had cat-like reflexes, balanced her instantly) towards the unknown girl. “Trish! You can help Felicity get into the common room since you’re both Ravenclaws, right?”

Trish, the third girl, nodded, though she appeared to be only vaguely aware of her surroundings, eyes fluttering heavily, swaying in one spot. Great, Felicity thought to herself, she’s worse off than me. Good thing I don’t usually suck at riddles. Still, at least now she wouldn’t have to worry about being caught by a teacher.

But, Oliver…

“Good,” he said, raising himself up. He held out a hand for Felicity to help her up and she took it gratefully. Yet both of their hands lingering in one another for just a bit too long. No one seemed to notice, except them. Felicity swore she saw a tinge of red appear in his cheeks.

“Sara Lance, here to save the day once more,” she joked, mocking a bow, which made Nyssa smile.

“Alright then, time to go. Wanna walk back with us, Oliver? I promise Nyssa won’t try to assassinate you,” she giggled. Nyssa’s expression quickly turned sour. Felicity heard Oliver exhale deeply.  
“Yeah, that’s fine,” he muttered.

“Excellent! Let’s head out, crew. See ya tomorrow, Felicity, Trish!” She waved, nudging Trish with her elbow as Nyssa and her walked on. Trish nearly stumbled over from it, but quickly regained composure. Felicity stepped towards the girl, giving her a faint smile. “Don’t worry, I know an excellent steadying charm,” she said. Trish flushed, leaning towards Felicity.

“I tried to out drink her,” she whispered, nodding towards Sara’s disappearing figure, a heavy scent of alcohol on her breath.

Felicity’s nose wrinkled at the smell. “Bad idea.” Trish nodded.

“Well, let’s get you upstairs then,” she said, putting a hand on the girls back as they walked towards the entrance of the stairwell. 

“It was nice meeting you, Oliver,” she said to Oliver, who hadn’t left yet, but was watching her like a hawk. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“You, too,” he muttered. They shared a brief smile, and Felicity felt a warmness come over her. Turning away from him, she went to follow Trish up the steps.

“Wait,” Oliver called out, and caught Felicity by the crook of her elbow. Alarmed, she looked up, meeting his blue eyes staring down at her. He leaned in, and in a moment of pure panic, Felicity thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he went around to the side, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

“Echo,” he whispered, and she could feel the heat of his breath on her earlobe.

A shiver went down her body as he pulled away from her. She gazed at him, unblinking. She was confused at first, but then it dawned on her.

The answer to the riddle.

He had figured it out. 

Uncertain of what to say, she was spared having to find the words when he shook his head towards the staircase. “You better get back to your fellow Ravenclaw.”

She gulped, certain her face bright red at this point. Sending her one last smirk, he turned on his heel and walked away, no doubt to catch up with Sara and Nyssa.

Watching him go, she jumped when she heard a voice coming from above her.

“He’s cute,” said Trish, whom Felicity had honestly forgotten was there, a few steps above her, waiting. She blushed considerably.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, but who was she kidding?

_Damn Slytherins._


	2. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been months since Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak met, but a letter by owl brings the curious Ravenclaw back to the forefront of his mind, a welcome distraction after a rough training session with Slade Wilson.

**Several Months Later**

* * *

 

Oliver Queen stood still in the darkness of the room, wand gripped tightly in his hand. He waited patiently, the only noise in the room coming from his steady breathing. Sweat rolled down his face in heavy drops.

He would not be outmatched.

A footstep echoed, and Oliver snapped his head around, trying to concentrate on its source, elevating his wand.

“Give it up, boy,” a voice grunted. “You really think you’re ready for this?”

“More than you are,” Oliver smirked.

“Fool,” the voice hissed, and a flash of bright light came hurtling towards him. “ _Expelliarmus_!”

Oliver’s reaction and counter-spell was immediate.  Swinging his arm he deflected the attack, watching it bounce off an invisible barrier.

“ _Incendio_!” Oliver shouted, flames pouring out from the tip of his wand, lighting up the entire room with red.

“ _Partis temporus_!” The voice growled, and an invisible wind brushed straight through the middle of the fire, revealing a clear path with a figure covered in dark robes standing at the other end of it. Oliver covered his face as the heat from the blowback of the fire caused his eyes to squint. The moment of weakness was quickly taken advantage of.

“ _Flipendo_!”

“ _Protego_!” Oliver shouted, but his concentration had been broken, his enemies spell overcoming his own, breaking through the shield and throwing him flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled to his feet, watching as his opponent walked towards him, raising his wand for another attack.

“ _Crucio--_!” The man began, and Oliver could already feel a scorching pain threatening to burst within him. But no, he wouldn’t lose, he couldn’t, he _refused_ , he--

“ _INFLECTO TELUM_!” Oliver roared, a surge of energy rushing through his body as out of his wand emitted several green, magical arrows, shooting straight towards the figure. Two of them pierced through his enemies robes, causing him to fly backwards and be pinned up against one of the rooms columns. Another had barely skirted his fighting hand, his wand falling out of his grasp with an audible clank onto the cement floor. “Incarcerous,” Oliver grunted, holding onto his stomach, which was lurching from the fading effects of the unforgivable curse, barely able to stand straight on his feet. A thin, black rope wrapped itself around the dark-hooded figure, securing him to the pillar and rendering him immobile, the arrows in either of his shoulders dissipating into green smoke.

Still holding his wand at the ready, Oliver marched towards his opponent, who did not bother to struggle against the restraints, but remained still as Oliver ripped his hood back, revealing his person. An expression of pure amusement stared back at him, mouth turned up in a twisted grin, one single brown eye glaring mockingly at him, the other hidden behind a patch.

“Slade,” Oliver growled his name like a curse.

“Disappointed, kid?” asked Slade, giving a throaty chuckle.

Oliver turned from him, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.  _Damnit_ , he thought, frustrated.

“Your father sends his regards,” he said, causing a spark of anger to ignite in Oliver. Without thinking, he turned on his heel, throwing his fist towards the man, only to have his knuckles caught by Slade’s gloved hand. Somehow, within the span of a few seconds, Slade had undone the spell that restrained him. Oliver met his eye, a glint that warned this would not be pleasant.

“Haven’t you learned anything?” muttered Slade, “The fight isn’t over just because you think you’ve won.”

With ease, Slade twisted Oliver’s hand backwards. A loud crack, a painful tremor that split down his arm. A knee came quickly to his stomach, and he felt his body succumb to the sudden pain, falling to his knees, gasping for breath. Now, it was his wand that fell to the floor.

“Another piece of advice? Never try to punch someone with your wand hand.”

He watched as Slade bent down and picked up his wand. For a split second, he thought the man might break it in two. Instead, he crouched down to Oliver’s level and thrusted it into his chest. Oliver grabbed on with his good hand, glaring up at the man. Without another word, Slade rose and walked away, leaving Oliver in pure darkness. He swore under his breath. Of course it was Slade under the hood. Only Slade would use an unforgivable curse in a practice fight. Only Slade would think breaking his fucking hand would be considered “advice”. Oliver cursed out loud again. Fixing his wrist was not going to be enjoyable.

 

* * *

 

Oliver sat on his bed, attempting not to wince as Raisa, his personal handmaid and healer, whispered incantations causing a low, red light to pulse from the tip of her wand, the bones in his hand and wrist moving painfully to fix the fractures. Slade Wilson was leaning on his door frame, cracking sunflower kernels noisily in between his teeth.

“Your form is improving,” he said. Oliver ignored him. He didn’t want to speak to Slade, didn’t want to waste his breath. “Too bad that spell went wrong. I’m sure Ms. Borodin will have you patched up quickly.”

Oliver scowled. Slade lied so easily, he wondered if the man believed all the shit that came out of his mouth. Yet, Oliver knew it was necessary. Questions would be asked about his broken hand, and it was no secret that Raisa gossiped frequently with Moira Queen, Oliver’s mother. It was better this way, but Oliver wasn’t going to admit that.

“Please, be still, Mr. Queen. I need to concentrate, and I can’t very well do that when you’re squirming around like a child,” said Raisa, whose hand was trembling with exhaustion from the spell.

“My father is Mr. Queen, Raisa, not me,” Oliver grunted.

“Right now, the only thing you need to be is  _still_ ,” she retorted, though her tone was not unkind. Oliver exhaled, trying to relax. Watching his bones move under his skin wasn’t exactly settling, but if he moved too much, something could easily go wrong. Magic was fickle like that.

“Where’s my father?” Oliver asked. If Slade was going to stay here and harass him, he might as well get some information out of it. “He was suppose to train me today. He promised. This is the third time he’s ditched me.”

“Your father is a busy man,” Slade said, crunching down on a kernel. “He isn’t always available for your convenience.”

“He isn’t  _ever_  available,” he shot back. “He used to train me all the time. Now, he just gets his  _lackeys_  to do it for him.” He made sure to put an emphasis on the term, and Slade eyed him carefully, as if to say,  _watch yourself, kid_. But Oliver didn’t care. He knew that was the truth. Ever since Oliver started to show signs of magical ability, his father had been teaching him. Small things, at first, but it had become more complicated as he got older. Robert had instilled an importance in learning to hone and control his skills. As such, every break in between school years, Oliver had spent most if not all of his summer training. Most students would have gotten their wands taken away for practicing such unsafe underage magic, but the Queen’s were not just any family, and his father had many friends in the Ministry of Magic who turned many blind eyes when it came to Oliver, who had a reputation for trouble.

After his fourth year at Hogwarts, Robert had slowly stopped training him one-on-one, instead allowing his assistants to do it for him. Unfortunately for Oliver, many of them were not as patient or as forgiving as his father was. Now, it appeared as though he had stopped altogether, hardly sparing Oliver the time of day.

“Almost done,” Raisa said, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Good,” He heard Slade grumble.

Oliver watched as the healer tapped the top of his hand with her wand, a warm, numbing feeling coursing through his nerves. She gave him a small, sympathetic smile.

“Something to keep away the pain,” she whispered to him, and affection welled in his chest. The sensation would fade with time, but at least he would be able to get past the most agonizing part of the healing without feeling much. 

“Thank you,” he murmured back.

“Of course,” she said, rising from her chair. “I will be back in a few hours time with a vial of ReGrow. It will take a full day to recover it completely, so please be careful, Mr. Queen.”

Oliver gave her a trite nod, flexing the fingers of his semi-healed hand carefully. He knew, just because he couldn’t feel anything, didn’t mean nothing was happening. He would have to be extra cautious.  
Raisa left, leaving Slade and Oliver alone, the tension unbearably thick.

“Looks like I’ll be ready for a rematch soon,” Oliver said, staring hard at Slade, who matched his glare.

“You’re prideful, like your father. An admirable trait in some ways, but not in combat. If you don’t learn to control yourself and your magic better, you’ll be useless to him. Robert doesn’t accept failures,” Slade told him scathingly. “You may be his flesh and blood, kid, but don’t ever assume that means he gives a damn.”

Slade’s statement hang heavy in the air as the man turned on his heel and left without a word, spitting out empty sunflower shells onto the bedroom floor as he went. Oliver clenched his working hand into a tight fist. Objects around the room began to vibrate, resonating from the otherworldly energy produced by his anger. Every part of him wanted to crucio Slade into oblivion like he had attempted to do to him earlier. Yet he knew, he  _knew_  there was truth in those words, and having a magical temper tantrum would only brandish him an impudent child unable of controlling his emotions.

Bitterly, he let out a long breath, releasing the tension in his body with it. The atmosphere around him settled. Rubbing his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb, he felt the beginning of a headache coming on. The day felt unbearably long, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but even night didn’t bring him rest. He hadn’t slept, truly slept since he left Hogwarts. Funny, how his common room felt more like home to him than the entire mansion laid out at his feet. It distracted him from who he was, who his family was. Here, he was Oliver Queen, heir to the prestigious pure-blooded Queen family, an elite line of wizards and witches with power and money. Not that he knew how they had either of those things, his father had made sure to keep him in the dark while keeping him pre-occupied with impossible expectations. There, in the Slytherin common room, he was Oliver. No one gave a damn about what he claimed to be, only what he proved to be.

Laying back in his bed, he felt a tinge of need, desire to be back there and away from here, and as if some deity above was listening in, he heard a rapping at his bedroom window. Speedy, the Queen family’s pet owl (belonging mostly to Thea Queen, Oliver’s younger sister), was perched on the outside, tapping on the glass to be let in. Moving from his bed, Oliver opened the window, allowing the Bengal owl inside. It held several parchments for him. Two, he recognized instantly. One from Tommy, and one from Laurel. But there was a third that he did not recognize.

“How are you, speedy?” Oliver spoke to the bird, petting the top of her head gently, getting a coo in response. Going to the desk by the window, he opened up a drawer, finding a small bag of grains. “Want a treat?” He asked, fishing some out and holding it towards her. Speedy stared at him, a look that clearly said she was unimpressed.

He sighed.

“Sorry, I’m not a fan of keeping dead mice in my bedroom.”

Her head twitched to the side, staring at him blankly. He was about to pull his hand back when she pecked, quickly, a few bites out of his palm, before releasing the parchments to him and retreating back to the window. He chuckled to himself. That owl was about as high-maintenance as his own sister. 

  
He unrolled the letter from Tommy first. 

_Dear Stranger,_

_You know, one time, I had a friend. I can’t remember his name, but I’m pretty sure it started with an O. Y’know, this friend of mine, we got into trouble all the time. Set my living room on fire once playing with my Dad’s wand collection. Boy, was he pissed. But man, he was such a smooth talker. He actually convinced my father, who I’m pretty sure is somehow related to Voldemort, to not turn us into squibs. And you know, it always pissed me off how he could whoop my ass on a broom, which is… well, actually, that’s a pretty easy feat._

Oliver snickered to himself remembering the time Tommy had tried out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team to impress a girl and had managed to do so badly that his own broom abandoned him, flying off into the unknown as soon as Tommy managed to get down from flopping around wildly in the air.

 _He was a cool guy and always let me borrow his notes that, lets be honest, he probably borrowed from someone else, but that’s besides the point. What I’m trying to say is, I miss that friend. Where is he at? Because this summer break has sucked without him. If you have any information on his whereabouts, please send me a message ASAP. Otherwise, I’ll have to assume him dead and therefore claim my rightful place as the owner of his Nimbus 5k7._  
_Lets hope, for the world's safety, that’s not the case._

 _Hugs and kisses,_  
_Tommy Merlyn_

_(P.S., Letter from Laurel? Howler in disguise. She's pissed you keep avoiding her. If I were you, I'd burn it and make a peace offering before she shows up at your house next.)_

Oliver raised an eyebrow, eyeing the second parchment which appeared innocent by all standards. Still, he wasn’t going to ignore Tommy’s warning. The thought of Laurel popping up in his mind instantly exhausted him further. He knew that her anger with him was driven by her worrying, and the fact that he  _had_  been avoiding her, but it wasn't something he wanted to deal with right now. There were things that Laurel needed from him that he simply couldn't give, and he didn't feel hearing her yell at him for how horribly insensitive he was would change that.

 _Later_ , he told himself, leaving it to the side and grabbing the unfamiliar letter instead.

Upon unraveling it, a pleasant, lavender and vanilla scent met his nose. An odd familiarity came over him, though he didn't recognize the handwriting. Curious, he began to read.

 _Dear Oliver,_  
_Hi._

He blinked. There was a wide, blank gap after that word. Mildly confused, he continued on.

_Okay, so, I have no idea how to do this. I’m more of an instant messaging kind of person, not a write-a-letter-by-hand-and-give-it-to-some-random-owl person. But it was either this, or do some weird spell that will make my head pop up in your fireplace, and honestly that’s just all kinds of weird to me. I mean, what if I accidentally appear in your bedroom and ~~you’re naked or something~~ and invade your privacy?_

Now both of his eyebrows were raised. The corners of his mouth twitched in a smile when he saw the words “you’re naked” crossed out multiple times, though not enough to hide it completely.  _Who was this?_  He wondered.

 _It just made more sense to write to you. Which… would make even more sense if you knew who I was. Which this letter doesn’t tell you. Because I’m just realizing now that I still haven’t told you who I am, and this isn’t Skype, so wow, go me for managing to completely ruin this letter. Sigh. ~~Ugh. Why did I just write out the word sigh!? I didn't even sigh!~~  Okay, ignore that. Sorry.  
So, I don’t know if you remember, but my name is Felicity Smoak. I’m the Ravenclaw from last year that got locked out of her common room. You know. The “smart” Ravenclaw? _(He noted another long gap here between words) _That makes me sound bitter. I’m not bitter. I just wrote that so that maybe you would remember easier. I also called you attractive, so, you know. Not bitter. Actually, please forget I said both of those things._

He remembered her now. How could he not? The Ravenclaw had caught his attention. He recalled seeing her there, curled up into a ball, the only thing visible her wayward blond hair and a pair of shoes with panda’s on them that stuck out like a sore thumb. He wasn’t looking for company, only to make sure she was alright. Yet when she looked up at him, her pinks flushed so deep it nearly matched her lipstick, and began speaking, he found himself… captured. Something about her drew him in, and he couldn’t help but tag along into the hole she was digging for herself. She was honest, funny, and wasn’t scared to speak her mind. He hadn’t smiled that entire day until he met her.

He was already mentally questioning how she found how to contact him when his answer came in the next few lines.

_I hope you don’t mind me contacting you. I kind of… did a little research on you and found your address…Well, what is suppose to be your address. Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything too illegal… I hope._

Oliver glanced around his room. How would she possibly find that out? The Queen Family estate was out in the country, covered with a concealment charm that made it appear to be nothing but an abandoned, broken down home in the middle of nowhere. It also had a memory blocker charm attached to it, which meant that anyone who got information about their location would instantly forget it unless it came from a person whom the family trusted. A tricky, complicated charm, but one that had added an extra layer of protection. Whatever she did, he was fairly certain “illegal” was a mild term for it. He kept reading.

 _Anyway, I… I was just thinking of you. Seeing if you passed your exams okay and everything was alright. Is that creepy? Please say it’s not creepy. I swear I’m not a stalker. I just remember you looked a little… ~~lost puppy-ish, upset,~~  sad and I hope everything turned out alright for you. And to say thank you, for, you know, risking getting caught to keep me company._  
_So, yeah. That’s that. That’s all I wanted to say. Hopefully you get this. Or maybe you won’t. I’ve never sent a letter by owl before, so I have no idea how this works. To be honest, they are kind of cute, but terrifying. And the one I borrowed keeps giving me a death glare. Pretty sure it’s going to cast some kind of voodoo owl hex on me soon, so I’m gonna end this now. Write me back if you get this, unless you’re not Oliver Queen, in which case, please burn this letter and let me die never knowing how embarrassingly awkward this letter is. Please._

 _~~Love, best wishes, see you later alligator,~~ _  
_Sincerely,_  
_Felicity Smoak_

_(P.S., sorry for the bad handwriting and scribbling mistakes, but I already re-wrote this five times. They really need to invent a backspace button for this kind of thing.)_

Oliver stared at the letter for quite some time, his mind floating with the image of the Ravenclaw. He could actually picture her sitting at a desk, crumbling up multiple pieces of parchment, mumbling to herself, frustratingly scratching out words. He felt a surge of affection for her, grinning to himself at the thought. A Ravenclaw struggling with writing a letter? He’d have to tease her about that when he saw her again. And ask her what the hell “Skype” and “Instant messaging” was.

Rolling up the paper with one hand, he set it down on his desk. All summer, no one had asked him how he was doing. It was all business or pleasure. Even his closest friend, Tommy, was more interested in having his partner back then inquiring why Oliver hadn’t been around. But this girl, a girl Oliver had met  _once_ , managed to somehow locate him and the only thing she was interested in knowing was how he was doing.  
He shook his head in disbelief. He knew he shouldn’t respond, that it would be better if Felicity didn’t know him, or anything about him, and yet… he couldn't suppress the odd desire to see her again, to listen to her ramble. The weight in his stomach felt lighter at the idea.

Accio’ing his wand to his non-broken hand, he magicked some parchment and ink to fly out of one of his desk drawers, letting it land lightly on its surface.

 _What could it hurt?_  he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, I did it. I wrote another chapter. And I have officially jumped on the "I have no idea where I'm going with this but hell yeah let's do it" plot train. As such, we'll see how updates go. I've only just started writing Olicity, so I'm still feeling out the characters. I hope I can do them justice, and also bring this AU world to life in a new way. Since I'm going in with only a vague idea leading me, tags, ratings and warnings will change with upcoming chapters. 
> 
> Due to changing this to a multi-chapter fic, I've also changed some things in the first chapter since it is no longer a stand alone that will help the storyline make more sense. You don't have to go back and re-read it if you've already read it, it's more for people just now reading. Anyway, I should warn you, this fic might go into Dark!Oliver territory. We shall see. Writing is a journey, isn't it? Glad to have some people tag along. :) Also, PLEASE LET ME KNOW if I messed up a spell, or said something stupid that contradicts with the first chapter. I tried to catch everything, but I may have missed something. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! I love all and any feedback. Next chapter, we'll visit Felicity's residency and get an insight to her side of the world. I hope I can do Donna Smoak justice. ;)


	3. The Response

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity Smoak spends some time with Sara Lance after an altercation with her mother leaves them both flustered. An owl stops by to give her a message from a certain Oliver Queen with a proposal that Felicity can't deny.

Felicity groaned.

“Mom. Please. Stop.”

She squinted her eyes underneath her glasses, feeling something begin to throb in the middle of her forehead. She was not sure how much longer she could listen to this. 

Donna Smoak, her mother, stared hard at her, eyes watery, her heavily glossed lower lip quivering as she spoke.

“Felicity, I am your mother, and it is not fair,” she said, arms crossed tight against her already squished together chest, sounding like a child who just got put in time-out for putting bubblegum in someone else's hair.

“No,” Felicity muttered, voice getting louder as she repeated the word. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Without looking at her, Felicity already knew her mothers mouth was opening in a retort.

She held up a defiant finger.

“ _No_.”

Immediately the water works shut off, and Donna let out a noise of frustration, wringing her hands irritably.

“Felicity it is _not_ fair! How am I ever suppose to learn more about your world if you never let me!? And don’t you dare make a moogle or whatever it’s called joke,” she added, pointing a perfectly manicured red nail at Felicity in warning.

“Mom,” Felicity huffed, eyes flashing open in a glare. “Last time we went to Diagon Alley together, you almost got me banned from a joke shop. A _joke_ shop.” The emphasis could not be clearer. Her mother scowled, flipping her blonde curls over her shoulder.

“It was a misunderstanding,” she murmured.

“It was not a misunderstanding!” Felicity exclaimed. “You tried to sneak love potions into your purse when you thought no one was looking and then when they caught you, you acted like you didn’t know anything and then tried to ask me, out loud, if I could use my “ _hocus pocus_ ” to wipe their memories like they do in Men and Black so we could make a run for it!”

“I was just trying to be funny!” Donna shot back.

“When I refused you took my hand, made me swing my wand around and caused me to accidentally set the display of Gassy Gumballs on fire! The entire thing exploded and it smelled like a men’s bathroom!” Felicity said, face contorted in mental pain as she recalled the embarrassing incident.

“I was having an anxiety attack! You can’t blame me for that!”

Felicity mouth gaped in disbelief at her mother's poor defense. She was about to say something when a loud knock came at the front door.

Both women shared a challenged look, but it was Felicity who, after the second knock, broke away, stomping towards the front door and opening it with a little more force than necessary.

A familiar face greeted her.

“What up, cutie?” said Sara Lance, grinning from ear to ear. This smile quickly dissipated when the girl noticed something off.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, concerned.

Felicity was about to respond when her mother’s voice carried over from behind her.

“Felicity? Who is it? We aren't done talking, young lady.”

“I need backup,” Felicity whispered, narrowing her eyes towards her mother. Sara’s grin was back as quickly as it left.

“Don’t worry,” she winked, patting Felicity on the arm. “Your mom loves me, remember?”

Without another word, Sara sauntered confidently into the apartment, stuffing her hands into her cropped leather jacket. “How’s it going, Mama Smoak?”

Donna’s eyes softened instantly at the sight of Sara, and within seconds she was caught up into a hug. “Oh, Sara, my dear! It is so good to see you! How are you?”

“Eh, so-so. Been bogged down with Quidditch practice,” replied Sara. Donna gave her a quizzical look.

“That weird… flying game with the broomsticks?” she asked.

“Yup, and trust me, it only gets weirder the more you learn about it,” Sara said with a laugh. “Be glad your daughter isn't into it.”

Felicity, who was now leaning her back against the closed front door, visibly cringed.

“Don’t remind me. I’m still finding blades of grass in my teeth from my first year experience…” she said, not entirely joking. The vivid memory of face-planting after trying to mount her broom still plagued her. Sara laughed, but her mother did not.

“I’m sure even if she was, she wouldn't let me know about it,” Donna muttered, frowning at her daughter, who felt part guilt, and part anger well up in her.

Sara must have sensed the revival of the earlier argument, because she quickly grabbed Donna’s hand and gave it a squeeze, stealing her attention away from her daughter.

“Hey, Ms. Smoak, I’m really hungry. My dad totally ditched me for lunch today. D’you think you could make me a plate of your famous grilled cheese sandwiches?”

Like a switch, all traces of anger disappeared. Donna laughed before giving Sara a sympathetic look.  “Famous? You are such a flatterer. Of course I will. Can’t let you starve, can I? Make yourself at home, dear.” 

With that, Donna was off towards the kitchen, heels (Felicity swore she never saw the women wear anything else) clicking against the tiles. 

Sara looked over her shoulder at Felicity triumphantly.

“You owe me,” she mouthed, pointing at Felicity then herself.

“Fine,” murmured Felicity, “one essay. In charms. That’s it.”

Sara scowled. “Seriously? That’s your favorite subject. Hardly a punishment. I say potions.”

“Okay,” Felicity smirked, “but just remember that I can totally, totally manipulate that essay to say something wrong and you wouldn't even know."

“Well!” Sara proclaimed, walking over to Felicity and swinging an arm around her. She grinned. “Charms it is then.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Night came quickly that evening. Sara and Felicity retired to Felicity’s bedroom after stuffing their faces with grilled cheese sandwiches. She wasn’t sure what her mother did to make them so incredibly delicious, but she was fairly certain it included an entire stick of butter.

And crack.

Definitely crack.

  
Her mother and her shared a half-hearted hug afterwards, Ms. Smoak whispering, ‘ _we’ll talk later_ ’ in her ear before leaving for work for the night. Felicity was just thankful that her mother had stopped pressing the issue. She knew her mother cared about her and wanted to be apart of the Wizarding World, but Felicity also knew that her mother could hardly function in this world. Plus, she really didn’t want to get banned from any more shops.

Now it was just Sara and her. Sara was outstretched on the foot of Felicity’s twin bed, reading the Quidditch section of Wizarding Weekly with interest. Felicity was curled up with a pillow, scanning through social media on her electronic tablet.

“So, do you think you passed your O.W.L.S?”

Felicity peered up from her tablet to look at Sara, whose eyes were still on the magazine. She felt anxiety well inside of her from the question.

“I don’t know,” she said, uncertain of how to answer, “I mean, I’m not stupid, obviously. I think I did okay. I.. I hope I did okay.”

Sara chuckled. “Come on, Felicity. Why are you even worrying? You probably got at least a bajillion Outstandings.”

“Not in some things,” Felicity said quickly, blushing. “I mean, I completely botched my Vanishing Spell for Transfiguration. And that written essay for History of Magic? Seriously, why do wizards not have something equivalent to SparkNotes? Because Professor Binn’s voice is like listening to Charlie Brown’s parents talk.”

“Who's Charlie Brown?” inquired Sara curiously, setting her magazine to the side. Felicity shot her a surprised look. Sara cocked an eyebrow at her before pointing to herself. “Not a muggle, remember?”

Felicity winced, closing her eyes and lightly tapping her forehead with her tablet. “Ugh, yes, of course. Why did I expect you to know that? I’m sorry. I’m a jerk.”

“No,” Sara said, rolling over to her side and resting her cheek in her palm, staring fondly at her. “You’re cute. Very cute. It should not be allowed.”

“Don’t let Nyssa hear you say that,” Felicity warned, to which Sara rolled her eyes. “Please. That woman has nothing to worry about. Have you seen her butt? It’s like--” she did a squeezing motion with both her hands, “--a beautifully crafted masterpiece. I thank the Wizarding gods every day.”

“Not that yours isn’t nice, too,” she grinned. “Just not as good as Nyssa’s.”

“Gee, thanks,” Felicity muttered, shifting uncomfortably, as if suddenly very aware of the weight and general existence of her butt.

“Seriously though,” continued Sara, using a more serious tone, “I’m sure you did great on your O.W.L.S., Felicity. You work hard, and you studied like crazy. I’m calling it right now, O’s and E’s on everything.”

Felicity smiled warmly at her friend. “Thank you,” she said, pushing up her glasses. Sara nodded at her, before picking up her magazine and continuing to read.

Moments like this felt surreal to her. Talking about O.W.L.S and Vanishing Spells, as though they were normal topics for conversation with the rest of the world. Growing up, Felicity knew she was different, but never why or how. She was smart, very smart. Because her mother was constantly working in order to keep their heads above water financially, Felicity spent a lot of time alone at the Library. There she consumed herself in science fiction, which propelled her interest in technology and science. By age seven, she knew how to build a fully operational supercomputer without any guidance. For some reason, everything electronic that she touched just came to life. She was able to fix everything and anything, and had a strange talent for understanding how to manipulate the little details. Her thirst to know how things worked and why furthered this ability. She learned how to code, how to hack, and how to create complex systems. Eventually, the head librarian stopped calling a technician when the library computers broke and would instead wait for Felicity to fix it.

She was able to solve things, understand them, _conquer_ them. But it wasn’t until she was ten years old that she began to question the realism of those abilities. One night, her mother and her got into a screaming match over one of her mothers boyfriends, a man called Simon Pecker, making Felicity so angry that her magic had ignited, the generator for the apartment complex exploding causing all the electricity to go out of the building. Neither her mother nor Felicity thought anything of it in the moment, but when a runny-nosed, tearful Felicity who was scared of the dark somehow managed to wish the lights in their apartment back on and succeeded, the rest of the building still shrouded in darkness, both of them shared a confused and worry stare. They had shrugged it off as a miracle of sorts, but when it happened again that same week after the power went out around their block due to a severe storm, it was obvious that something was amiss. Still, neither of them discussed it, scared that speaking of it aloud would underline just how crazy it was.

After that, the signs became clearer. Computers responded to her like she controlled them, able to turn them on and off at will. Objects began to levitate randomly in her vicinity, usually when she was feeling highly emotional. Every time her mother and her would fight, a fuse would blow or something would break inside their apartment. Donna lost several coffee mugs that year with no explanation as to why and Felicity… Felicity swore she kept seeing things in the air, like moving colors out of the corner of her eye. The very same hour of her birth on her eleventh birthday, she got her letter, an enormous owl barging in through an open window in her bedroom and flying frantically around their tiny apartment. By the time her mother had chased it outside with a broom (in high heels of course), Felicity had already snatched the letter and read it over five times, not believing what she was reading.

Her mother? Well, that time, her mother really _did_ have an anxiety attack.

Neither Felicity nor Donna knew how to react, both of them thinking it was some kind of joke. However, a week later when a man named Quentin Lance came knocking at their door claiming to work for the Ministry of Magic in search of one unaccounted Witch named Felicity Smoak, with a wand and a handful of spells to prove it, Felicity was successfully signed up for Hogwarts that same day. Her mother had, surprisingly, only passed out twice during the entire ordeal. Felicity, though, had a feeling deep inside her when she saw Quentin, like she knew he was different. She couldn’t explain it, she just knew. Though neither Donna or, as far as her mother knew, her Father had any magical history, Felicity had plenty of it, and it was Hogwarts, not the American Wizarding University, that contacted her, something to this day that has been unexplained.  
Later that same year it would be Quentin who took a terrified and nervous Felicity Smoak to Diagon Alley for the first time, along with one of his daughter, Sara Lance, who was also a First Year. He, personally, shelled out the money for her used books and first Cauldron, knowing that Donna had very little to offer. Felicity became quick friends with the Sara, and Quentin became a sort of father figure to her throughout her time at Hogwarts. Whenever Donna wanted to send Felicity a letter, cookies or (to Felicity’s horror) cute sets of underwear, she would go through Quentin. He was their in between, their bridge across worlds, and his daughter became her best friend.

Felicity smiled at Sara thinking about the past, about how thankful she was that her family had come into her life. Thankful that, after years of childhood loneliness she finally had friends that were humans instead of books and a home at Hogwarts that welcomed her with open arms.

That feeling faded quickly when Sara asked,

“Speaking of love interests, you gonna ask Cooper out this year? Everyone knows you want that D.”

Felicity nearly choked on air, dropping the tablet onto her lap, staring wide-eyed at Sara.

“W-what?” She sputtered.

“You heard me,” Sara smirked, flipping through the magazine pages.

“Okay, first off,” Felicity began, trying to sound stern. “Cooper is way out of my league and I’m pretty sure he’s dating Venus. Second off,” she took a breath, “can we please not call it ‘that D’? Because that is super, super uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, have we forgotten about the time you referred to it as ‘Thor’s Hammer’?” Sara quipped, barely able to hold back laughter.

Felicity bit her lip, flushing. “That was one time, Sara. One time.”

“That’s all it takes, my friend,” she winked at her.

“Well…” she avoided Sara’s gaze, feeling her blush intensify. She probably--no, she definitely should not say anything about this, but-- “Maybe I’m interested in someone else.”

Her friends eyes went large as saucers as she tossed the magazine to the side, giving Felicity her full attention. However, before Felicity could say anything else, she heard a banging at her window.

Outside of her bedroom, an owl was fighting to get inside her room.

Sara and Felicity’s eyes met.

Somehow, _she knew_.

“Sara, don’t you DARE--” Felicity cried, moving to her feet, but it was too late, Sara was already barrelling towards the window, wrenching it open, allowing the creature to enter, flapping its wings rapidly. 

“Wait a second…” Sara muttered to herself, staring as the owl dropped a rolled up piece of parchment on Felicity’s bed, which she snatched before Felicity had a chance to grab it. “This is speedy. This is the Queen family’s owl.”  
The bird in question perched itself on Felicity’s desk, its head twitching to the side, eyes watching the girls with interest. Felicity felt her stomach twist into knots in several different ways because

1\. Realization on who Felicity was talking about was quickly dawning on Sara and

2\. _He had sent her a letter back_.

“Oliver Queen,” she murmured, not opening the letter but staring at it. “That’s who you like? Oliver freakin’ Queen?”

“I don’t like him!” Felicity exclaimed. “I mean. I don’t know. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I just sent him a letter, it’s not a big deal! I just wanted to know how his summer went…”

Sara frowned, which made Felicity nervous. Why was she so unhappy about this? She only sent him one letter. For all she knew, his response would be something along the lines of ‘You’re weird, never contact me again’, which she found herself hoping beyond hope that was not the case.

“Laurel dated Oliver,” Sara stated quietly, staring at the letter. “He… well.” She shook her head, as if deciding something in her mind that she wasn’t sharing with Felicity. Suddenly, she thrusted the letter towards her.  
“You know what? Read it. I’m sorry, I just… didn’t think you even knew him.”

“I met him last year,” said Felicity, carefully taking the parchment from her hand, eyeing her warily, “that night where we had a party at the Room of Requirement. Before O.W.L.S. You and Laurel invited me. I got locked out of my common room. Oliver, he… kept me company. You walked with him back to the Slytherin common room, actually.”

Sara’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were kinda drunk,” Felicity gave her a small smile.

Sara gave a coarse laugh that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Sounds like me.”

“He was nice,” Felicity muttered, fingering the seal on the letter, an emblem that resembled an arrowhead, scared to open it. “And kind of funny, actually. He didn’t run away when I started rambling, so, you know, bonus points.”  
This time, Sara’s laugh was genuine.

“Well,” she spoke slowly, seemingly picking her words with care, “I can’t tell you who to like or be friends with. He’s just…” she trailed off, eyes faltering to keep contact. “You should read it,” she said finally, pointing at it. “Make sure you read the dirty parts out loud.”

“Sara,” Felicity groaned. “It’s not like that, seriously. This is the first time I’ve heard from him from that night. For all I know, all that’s inside here is ‘ _LEAVE ME ALONE_ ’ in big, bold letters.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” her friend wiggled her eyebrows.

Taking a deep breath, Felicity broke the seal and started to read.

His handwriting was thicker, more fluid in comparison to her own chicken scratch. 

_Dear Felicity Smoak,_

_Hi._

It did not go unnoticed by Felicity that a gap equal to her own in her letter to him followed that opening.

_Of course I remember you. How could I not? You’re the only Ravenclaw I ever met who couldn’t get into their own common room._

“Jerk!” She whispered under her breath, but she still felt her heart flip.

_Hard to believe you’ve never sent a letter by owl before. Not sure how else one would go about contacting someone else. I’m impressed that you managed to find me, and curious as to how. Should I be worried about what other things came up in your research of me? Perhaps you’ll be able to tell me the next time we meet._

She gulped. Next time. Did that mean he wanted there to be a next time?

_My summer has been fairly busy, but good. A lot of… physical activities has kept my schedule full. It’s… nice that you thought to send me a letter, though. I’m not used to being ‘checked up’ on. So… thank you. For checking up on me._

Felicity tried not to think of what “physical activities” might entail. Instead, she shifted her focus towards the abnormal space between paragraphs here, and a few droplets of ink all in the same vicinity of each other in the gap. She realized suddenly that he had paused here indefinitely, thinking of what to say next. The thought of that caused a wave of warmth to roll over her, drawing a smile to her face.

_So, I don’t know if you’d be interested, but I’m heading to Diagon Alley this weekend to pick up school supplies for next year. Just a few books and some new robes. Usually I go by myself but if you’d like to join me, I wouldn’t mind the company. You probably like ice-cream, right? There’s a new ice-cream parlor that opened up on the East side. If you want maybe we could… go. Together. Y’know. Just us._

Another cluster of droplets. Another pause. Was he seriously pulling a her and rambling with his words?

_If not, that’s alright. I’m sure I’ll see you around school. If you’re not too frightened to send another letter by owl, let me know what you think. Speedy, my family owl, can take your response back to me. Otherwise, I suppose I’ll just see you at the beginning of the semester._

_Take care, Felicity._

_Yours truly,_  
_Oliver Queen_

Felicity felt her heart pounding hard in her chest. She kept re-reading the letter, as though she were hallucinating it. Not only did he respond to her letter, he wanted to hang out with her. Grinning from ear to ear, Felicity unconsciously bit her lip, pulse quickening at the thought of seeing him again. 

The happiness must have been evident on her face, because when she finally tore her eyes away from the parchment, Sara had amusement plastered all over her.

“So,” she said, “Gonna go get Thor’s Hammer huh?”

Felicity glared, throwing her pillow forcefully at the blond, smacking her directly in her laughing face.

Sara would mention later, nudging Felicity as she wrote a response, that she never did deny it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Chapter 3. Hope you guys like it. Gives a little backstory into Felicity Smoak in this story. I know, I know. Get to the romance already! But don't worry. Next chapter a taste of Olicity awaits. Spoiler alert: She says yes to the trip to Diagon Alley.
> 
> So, how did you like this chapter? Did it make you laugh? Hope you liked Sara/Felicity's friendship. Not gonna lie, I'm really into the Lance/Smoak family dynamic. And Quentin Lance taking baby girl Felicity to get her first wand? *sighs* If only it could be real.
> 
> THANK YOU for all of your feedback so far! You guys are awesome. Let me know what you think about this Chapter in the comments! :)


	4. The Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver Queen is tested by his father with a task that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. But all is not completely terrible when Felicity Smoak agrees to go on a date with him at Diagon Alley.

Oliver Queen’s footsteps echoed through the Queen Family dungeons, two body guards holding illuminated wands on either side of him as he strode down stone hallways and down a flight of stairs to what they called, “The Dark Room”. It was a room kept for the most stubborn of prisoners who refused to relent information, and a place Oliver Queen knew all too well. Here, at the age of ten, he was broken. Now, at the age of seventeen, it held a different purpose for him: to break others.

They only held one individual down here at a time. A pair or more would make it too easy to collaborate an escape, and isolation from the outside world did more damage than most people would think. That, and the refusal of food, water, and lack of sunlight. There were no windows, no torches, no light at all in the Dark Room. Only a never-ending abyss of nothingness and silence. The prison was even magically designed to keep out all bugs and rodents, so that captives would only hear what their minds wanted them to hear. It twisted their psyche, stripping away sanity from them until they were begging for the embrace of death. Many did not last more than three days.

Oliver had lasted nearly two weeks.

He pushed those thoughts away in his mind when he came down here. Tucked them into a lock-box in the deepest parts of him, where they could not be found, memories of this place like a nightmare rather than a reality. Truly, as much as he hid it, it still made his skin crawl, but his father had been clear. This man had vital information that, for reasons he refused to elaborate on, was of crucial importance. Oliver supposed he should be proud that his father would call on him, but he knew that anything Robert asked him to do was a test. His life was a test, and if he did not pass it, then everything he had survived would be for nothing.

A few more steps into the darkness and Oliver and his body guards approached a heavy, metal door with two columns on either side

“открыть,” Oliver ordered, his Russian accent thick.

The guards nodded and place their lit wands inside carved notches in the columns on either side of the door. A flood of light began to move through the cracks, revealing an intricate design carved into the metal. The sound of numerous locks clicking in and out of place could be heard, several layers of protection unraveling as the door began to slowly undo itself. In seconds, only one layer remained, a stone wall with the shape of a giant hand etched in the middle of it. Oliver placed his palm on it, bracing himself for the inevitable pinch as something sharp poked all five of his fingers. Suddenly, the lights turned red as blood, and the door guarding the prisoner disappeared, crawling into the sides of the columns as if it had never been. Both body guards removed their wands but stood guard as Oliver walked past the threshold alone, slowly slipping his own wand out of the inside of his suit.

“Lumos,” he muttered, a white light illuminating the room, revealing a man hanging from the ceiling by chains around his wrists.

The man appeared worn and dazed. He hissed at the light, looking away with tightly closed eyes. Bruises adorned every inch of his dirty-covered face, and Oliver immediately knew he had not been the first to be down here.  
The captive’s robes were cut, dried blood clearly visible in patches on his clothing and his arms. His hair was a mess of tightly screwed curls that stuck to his sweating face. It occurred suddenly to Oliver how humid it was down here, and he instantly remembered that the man probably hadn’t had a drink in days.

Frowning, Oliver approached the man.

“Look at me,” he commanded. The prisoner only glared at him through squinted eyes. Forcefully, he grabbed the man's chin, turning it towards him.

“ _Look. At. Me._ ” He repeated.

The man stared into his eyes now. Defeat was clearly written on his face, but pride kept him from breaking away, from giving in. Oliver would have to break that pride.

“Do you know why you’re here?” He asked.

“пошел на хуй,” the man spat, ‘ _fuck you_ ’ in Russian, voice hoarse. Oliver frowned, irritated.

“Fine,” He mumbled. “If you want to play this game, we will play.”

Stepping back, he lifted his wand and flicked it, conjuring a bowl and then--”Aguamenti.” A jet of water filled it to the brim before the spell was released.

Looking up, Oliver could see the man’s eyes widen, his body lurch forward, wrists weakly pushing against their confinements. Oliver lifted the bowl to the man, barely close enough to touch his lips, tempting him.

“I will ask you again. Cooperate, and you will get a sip. Refuse, and…” He tilted the bowl forward, allowing the water to pour onto the floor.

The prisoner cried out, his body spasming as he tried to stop it from happening, eyes wide as he watched the source of nourishment waste away.

Oliver rolled the bowl back, eyeing the man who stared up at him, his resistance wavering by the second.

“Do you know why you’re here?” He asked again, this time slowly, emphasizing each word.

The man hesitated, and Oliver thought for a moment that he would again refuse, but the prisoner spoke, his words slurred as if his lips and tongue were too tired to move.

“I have information,” he murmured. “Information your father wants.”

“That you won’t give to him,” said Oliver. “Not a smart plan, considering your predicament.”

“Your father is a wealthy _prick_ ,” the man gritted out. “As are you, his worthless seed. You will learn that money will not buy everything. It will not buy me.”

Oliver’s jaw clenched tightly.

“You?” He said darkly. “Why would we buy you? You are disposable. I’ve read your file,” he flicked his wand, summoning a small scroll tucked inside of his inner suit jackets pocket to the forefront, unrolling it in front of the man.

“Your name is Your name is Kazimir Vitsin. You are a Russian scientist, specializing in magical substances. You have two children, both under the age of twelve. A daughter and a son. Your wife is deceased, died two years ago from a mysterious poison that you obsessed over finding a cure for. An interesting quest, considering that same poison is currently being replicated and created in your hospital, by you, as well as numerous other illegal substances that you’re selling to the Russian Assembly of Magic under the table.”

The prisoner paled visibly at his words. Oliver met his eyes with fire.

“What would your children say about that? Their father profiting off of the very poison that killed their mother?”

“ _What do you want from me_?!” The man roared, the topic of family obvious hitting a nerve, as Oliver knew it would. Waving his wand, the scroll wrapped itself up, floating in the air next to the man’s face, a reminder of what was at stake.

“Simple,” he said with a shrug. “The name of your buyer, and a copy of all the ingredients used to make that poison, as well as the cure for it.”

At this request, Kazimir laughed. Taken aback, Oliver raised an eyebrow at him.

“Something funny to you?”

“You think--” Kazimir began, his voice breaking, “--that I would tell you this? You think that I fear _you_? A boy who has never killed?” Oliver’s mouth twitched, and Kazimir smirked. “I am not without my own, information, Mr. Queen. You are nothing, nothing compared to what awaits me if I speak.”

The words sparked heat inside Oliver. He felt his wand hand tremble, and the bowl of water in his free hand dropped to the floor.

Neither Kazimir nor Oliver broke eye contact despite the loud noise that echoed from it.

Stepping forward, he eliminated the space between them, getting so close to the prisoner that their noses nearly touched.

“I will bring you pain worse than death. You should fear me,” Oliver growled, his wand vibrating.

In response, Kazimir spit whatever bit of saliva he could produce on Oliver’s face.

The resulting attack was without hesitation.

“ _CRUCIO_!” Oliver exclaimed, and he felt red hot anger burst out of the tip of his wand. Kazimir’s screams of agony filled the prison as his body throttled as though he were having a seizure.

“NO!” He cried, “PLEASE!” But Oliver did not relent, his body trembling from the magic leaving him. After what felt like eternity but was realistically less than ten seconds, Oliver released him from the spell. Kazimir’s body went limp as he breathed heavily, dry-heaving.

Oliver bowed down, leaning forward and grabbing a fistful of the man’s hair in his hand, pulling it back hard, causing the man to wince.

“Disrespect me like that again, and next time, you will feel just how disposable you are.” His words were lower than a growl.  

Kazimir did not meet his eyes as Oliver pulled away, releasing him. The man’s head slumped forward, staring straight at the ground, unable to hold himself up, no doubt still reeling from the pain.

Oliver stood, correcting his posture and wiping the saliva off his face with the back of his hand. Taking a breath, he straightened his tie, cracking his neck as he did.

“Now,” began Oliver, voice cold as ice, “If I were you, I would take this opportunity to change your stance. I have all day to play this game with you, and I can. But keep refusing, and I can not promise that your children will not be orphans by the end of this.”

Oliver knew, deep down, the possibility of his threat being empty. The words alone left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated every second of this interrogation. Yet the man had tested him, insulted him, and Oliver could not go back empty-handed to his father licking his wounds like an injured cub. Instead, he said what he needed to, what he had to, to get his point across.

Eyes still connected to the floor, the man responded quietly.

“I’ll tell you whatever you need to know…”

Oliver hid his relief behind a stoic expression.

“Good. _Accio bowl,_ ” he murmured, the bowl that had fallen to the floor earlier raising itself into his palm.

“ _Aguamenti_.” Filling it with water once more, Oliver held it out to the prisoner. Kazimir looked up at him warily. Oliver could see in his eyes the distrust, the pain, the defeat. His pride had been broken.

“I am a man of my word, Kazamir,” He grumbled. “Tell me everything you know.”

 

* * *

 

Robert Queen leaned forward over his desk, fingers steepling together, watching with interest as Oliver set a green, glowing vial down gently in front of him. Oliver then stepped back and stood stiffly, hands behind his back, waiting. His father took the vial, looking it over a few times, cradling it in his palm before glancing back up at his son, analyzing him.

“I am impressed,” Robert said after a moment of silence. “Kazimir folded rather quickly with your persuasion.”

“He was a soft man,” Oliver replied. “Realizing that his children would be left without a father or a mother was enough to make him bend.”

“They are better off without him.”

“That’s not for me to say.”

“No,” Robert stared hard at him, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes crunched. “But it is for you to decide.”

Oliver said nothing to that, knowing better than to say what he was thinking. His father waved his hand, and the vial floated up and down into a drawer that Oliver could not see behind Robert's desk, he only heard the snap of the lock as it closed, all of Kazimir’s information along with it. Moving back in his chair, Robert stroked his chin full of scruffy, grey hair, gaze set on Oliver.

“Tell me, do you believe he deserves mercy because of his offspring?”

“I believe that children should not have to pay for their fathers sins,” Oliver stated, not missing a beat.

“But the father must pay for his own sins,” Robert countered.

Oliver faltered for a response to that, which did not go unnoticed.

Sighing deeply, his father raised himself out of his chair, walking around his desk towards Oliver, who became immediately on the defense. He held his breath, the wand tucked on the inside pocket of his suit feeling hot against his chest as though it were burning through his clothes. But his father simply turned towards the a tall display case that sat next to a huge window that took up nearly the entire wall in Robert’s office, looking over the gardens below. The display case held three different wands, all resting on plush satin pillows. Above and below them plaques with his father's name etched into them. Awards for his brilliance, his business ethics, his commitment to the Ministry of Magic and Queen Consolidated, the family business in partnership with both the Ministry of Magic and The Russian Assembly of Magic that Oliver would one day own. All of them came with tales of Robert’s accomplishments, a monument to the power of his name. Oliver did not know how it all came to be, his father had kept him in the dark about most things in the family history. What he did know was that the Queens did not come into the Wizarding World already set in stone. It was his father that made their name a legend in multiple countries, including Russia. It would be Oliver’s job one day to continue that legacy.

“You have a good conscious, Oliver,” he started, gazing at his own awards, “and it will be your downfall. One day, you will come to understand that all men and women must pay for their crimes, and that the only reason why any others are in the cross-hairs are because of their bad choices. I hope that when that day comes, you make the right decision, regardless of how you might feel.”

Oliver swallowed hard, watching as his father turned back to his desk. To the side of Oliver, a bottle of Whiskey and one shot glass hovered from its space on the fireplace mantle that was to the right of Oliver to his father’s desk, settling gently on the top.  The liquor poured itself into the cup, stopping at the perfect time and slowly tilting back into rest. Robert took the alcohol and swigged it down in one go.

“This world is dirty, son,” said his father. “Men like Kazimir are just another stain on society. Russia will be glad to be rid of him.”

Oliver’s ears perked, he could not detain the surprise from his face and was immediately thankful his father's back was turned so that he did not see it.

“You… killed him?” Oliver asked, a crack in his voice betraying him, but his father either did not notice or did not care.

“Yes,” he replied, magicking the bottle of Whiskey to pour him another glass.

“But… he gave us everything we needed. Why would you--”

“Because he did not deserve to live,” his father spoke over him angrily, and Oliver could see his hand tighten around the shot glass.

“Kazimir put himself in this position. Why you would feel remorse for this man is beyond me, and it only tells me that you are still too weak to understand the prices that must be paid, whether by blood or by money, when men like Kazimir exist.”

Now, Oliver felt his own temper rise. He opened his mouth to speak, but his father raised a hand and immediately Oliver felt his lips force shut, as though glued together by some invisible substance. He could not release them, instead exhaling noisily through his nose.

“Save it,” Robert said. “You did well today, let us not tarnish your improvement by dwelling on what you have yet to overcome. All in time, you will understand. You will become what you need to be for me. For this family. I have confidence in you, son,” he paused for a moment, taking another swig of Whiskey from his cup. “Do not make a fool of me.”

With those words, Oliver’s lips were released from the spell. Balling his hands into fists, Oliver turned on his heel and walked out from his father's study, the doors shutting behind him without anyone touching them. Walking down the hallway, anger flooded him. Robert had killed Kazimir. He had taken a life away, even though the man had agreed to give up all that he knew. Kazimir was willing to put everything on the line in order to go home to his family, his children. Now, the next time they would see him would be in a casket. If that.

And Oliver had given him the hope that it wouldn’t happen.

He had tortured him, then given him the hope that he would see his kids again.

“ _FUCK_!” Oliver growled, unable to control himself as his fist went flying through drywall, hand disappearing until he felt metal against his knuckles. A portrait next to him on the wall of a plump woman in a red dress made an audible squeal, the glass protecting her picture cracking in two, causing her to retreat into the painting next to her own where she unsuccessfully tried to hide behind a large rock and a towering tree.

He breathed hard, his legs buckling as though he had run a marathon. He wanted to scream, wanted to shake his father, wanted to show him just how weak he was, but he couldn’t do a damn thing.

He didn’t even realize that someone was speaking to him until he felt something touch his shoulder. In a second, he retracted his fist from inside the wall and grabbed his wand from inside his suit pocket, whirling around holding it up defensively, his first thought thinking it was his father coming to discipline him for his behavior.

Instead, a short, curly brown-haired waif of a girl stared up at him with large, round eyes full of concern. It was his younger sister, Thea.

“Ollie, what happened?”

As though his rage were a balloon, her presence was the pin that deflated his frustration. _Damn it_ , he thought, guilt overtaking anger as he cursed himself for allowing her to see him like this.

“It’s nothing,” Oliver grunted.

“Uh, yeah, _that_ \--” she pointed at his hand which was full of bloody wooden splinters, “--is not nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

“He’s a scoundrel!” Pipped the painted woman in the red dress.

“Oh shut up Nancy,” Thea snapped, glaring at the moving portrait, who retracted once more behind the rock, an audible humph following. Gently, Thea stepped towards Oliver, taking his wounded hand in her own. Grasping her own wand from her back jeans pocket, she hovered it above Oliver's injuries.

“ _Episkey_ ,” she said, waving her wand swiftly.

Immediately the splinters pushed themselves out, disappearing into the air, his skin quickly repairing itself with only minor discomfort. Sighing, Oliver flexed his fingers to make sure it was done correctly.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “You’re getting real good at that spell, you know.”

“Yeah, figured I might need to, seeing as my brother has a penchant for pain,” Thea said, annoyed. Her eyes flickered up questioningly at him. “Don’t think you can change the subject by complimenting me, either.”

“It’s…” Oliver trailed off, struggling for words. He loathed lying to his sister. She was still so young, only in her fourth year at Hogwarts, and she adored their father. But she wasn’t stupid, and knew that Oliver was under immense pressure. But there was no easy way to tell your sister that you tortured a man in a hidden dungeon underneath the gardens and then just found out that he was killed mercilessly by their father.

Actually, there was no way to say it at all.

“I’m just stressed out about school,” He lied, hoping she wouldn’t press the matter. She eyed him steadily for a moment, but thankfully seemed to take the bait as a smirk crossed her face.

“You know, if you’re that desperate for tutoring, I’m doing pretty spectacularly in Transfiguration,” teased Thea.

“Okay, first off, I do just fine on my own, thanks,” Oliver began, raising an eyebrow at her, “second off, getting tutored by my baby sister on anything is just asking to get my ass handed to me verbally by Tommy.”  
Thea laughed, and the sound made Oliver’s heart feel a little bit lighter.

“Slytherins,” she muttered. “So stubborn.”

“Hey now,” Oliver pointed at her warningly. “Let’s not be all high-and-mighty here, Ms. I’m-The-Princess-From-House-Too-Good-For-You. Your house is the definition of ‘stubborn’.”

“True,” she said, face full of pride. Thea was a Gryffindor, the first Queen to be anything outside of a Slytherin for several generations, a fact she enjoyed bringing up whenever able. “Roy says it’s an admirable trait.”

“ _Aaaaand_ there goes the quality of this conversation,” Oliver mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“What!” His sister punched him in the arm, which felt more like a feather falling on him. “Don’t be like that. You barely even know him and you don’t like him.”

“You’re my sister, I don’t like anyone you date. That’s just how it is.”

“Well then, if you’re gonna be like that,” Thea folded her arms, grinning smugly, “I guess I’ll just keep to myself a certain letter that Speedy brought for you this morning…”

At first, Oliver was about to say, Great, another secret admirer? But it occurred to him that she was referring to a letter he had been secretly waiting for with impatience since a day or so before.

“Thea…” He began, glowering at her. “What letter?”

But his sister merely shrugged. “Oh, I dunno… Is it really that important?”

Annoyed, he took out his wand and waved it. “Accio letter,” he growled.

“Hey!” Thea cried as a small letter flew out of her other back pocket and traveled over to Oliver, who caught it in his open palm.

“Cheater,” she pouted. “Fine, whatever. Enjoy your letter. Hope your girlfriend doesn’t mind dating a jerk. Just don’t forget to fix that,” she pointed towards the aforementioned hole. “Raisa will have a fit if she sees that. Hell, mom will have a fit. And I’ve already done my good deed for the day."

  
Oliver simply nodded, too busy undoing the letters confinements and unrolling it, hardly noticing as Thea walked away from him. He felt the back of his neck get warmer as the scent he began to tie to her came wafting to his nose. He felt his stomach turn over as he read.

_Dear Oliver,_

_Can I just say that I am seriously relieved that you don’t think I’m a total stalker psycho? Because I feel like that’s really important. Thanks for replying so quickly to me. Your owl is adorable and sweet, although she did peck me a few times. I’m just gonna assume that was her way of being affectionate and not trying to mark me for death._

His own chuckle sounded foreign to him. How could she make him laugh without even being here?

 _I would LOVE to go to Diagon Alley with you this weekend! And I am very much down for ice-cream. Not gonna lie, I have eaten through a pint of Mint Chocolate Chip on multiple occasions. Okay, I take that back, maybe I shouldn’t have written that. I’m not a pig, I swear. I just really like Mint Chocolate Chip Ice-Cream. And butterbeer. And… okay, I’m going to stop now while I still can._  
_I’m glad you had a good summer. I hope your… physical activities went well. Maybe we can talk more about it when we see each other? Your summer, that is. Not your physical activities. I should clarify because… Ugh. I’m really bad at this. We should talk about an alternative to letter writing. Like texting. Texting is better. And has Emojis. Although I guess I could just draw a smiley…_

_Okay, back on topic. Just write me the time and the place, and I’ll see you there. I ~~can’t wait to see you~~ look forward to seeing you again and hanging out with you with… just us._

_:)_

_See you soon,  
_ _Felicity Smoak_

He read, and re-read the letter over again, his smile getting wider each time he did. He had no idea what Emojis were, but he liked her lopsided smiley at the end. Somehow, the horrible feeling inside of him subsided, and for a moment, he felt like perhaps a normal life wasn’t that far from grasp.

Rolling the letter back up and sticking it inside his suit pocket, he found himself more excited to go to Diagon Alley than he had been in years.

 

* * *

 

The days towards the weekends went by as slow as molasses, and Oliver had been quietly counting down the minutes until the day arrived where he disappeared in a cloud of Floo Powder and appeared in a street so familiar to him, it felt like a second home.

  
While sometimes he went through The Leaky Cauldron, he was trying to avoid prying eyes, as many of the customers there knew Oliver and his family and wouldn’t hesitate to gossip about Oliver Queen and his latest ‘squeeze’ (he could see the printed title now in his head). This time, he came through the Floo Powder Network, which had a small dedicated area right next to the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley.

The streets were packed as usual during this time of the year. School was starting up again in just a few short weeks, and many people liked to get a headstart before shops started to run out of stock of popular items. Oliver decided to go casual, not wanting to wear heavy robes in the warm weather. Instead, he wore jeans and a button down shirt that was tucked in. He scratched his jaw as he strode towards Obscurus Books, the shop that Felicity and him had decided to meet at. He cursed himself for not shaving and hoped that she wouldn’t mind the scruffy look. He didn’t know why he felt so self-conscious all of the sudden. He was Oliver Queen, after all. But that name meant nothing to him in comparison to what it meant to others. If he was being completely honest with himself, he felt both nervous and a little awkward. He didn’t usually put himself out like this but…

Something about her attracted him, and he found himself wanting to know her more.

His father had always warned him about messing around with girls. Oliver had his fair share of bad decisions in that area, but he felt good about this. Maybe. Merlin, he hoped so.

Just as he was going to check his watch, the smell of lavender and vanilla passed over him, and he immediately snapped his head up, his breath hitching in his throat when he saw her.

_Felicity Smoak._

She stood out from the crowd, wearing a blue, short sun-dress that appeared to have little kittens and watermelons all over it. She wore small, red heels that matched her red lipstick, reminding him instantly of the night they met. Her blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail, watermelon earrings dangling from her ears. He couldn’t lie to himself -- she looked beyond amazing.

Swallowing hard, he remembered that he could, indeed, move his limbs, and waved at her to get her attention. Her eyes had been scanning the crowd, no doubt searching for him. Once their eyes met, a wide smile crossed her face and she quickly walked towards him.

When she got to him, he felt unable to speak, as though someone were holding his voice-box hostage. She really did look beautiful. Pushing her glasses up her nose with one hand, he noticed her nails were painted red as well. Nervously, she spoke, and he realized that somehow, though they hardly knew each other, he had missed the sound of it.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Queen,” she said light-heartedly, unable to hide the shakiness in her voice.

And with those words, Oliver knew immediately he was in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh!! You GUYSSSS. The responses to this fic have been amazing and so heartening! I love all of you. Even if I don't have time to respond to every post, know that I do read them and I am SO GLAD you guys like the fic! Please don't hold back, tell me everything you think, good or bad! :)
> 
> So this chapter came kind of late, but life has been pretty hectic. I don't really have a updating "schedule". I just write as I have time and feel inspired to do so. Normally, I aim to update at least once a week, but I can't make any promises. Between college, work and planning a wedding, my schedules pretty packed. This is a nice getaway for me from the craziness. 
> 
> I know this chapter was very Oliver-centric, but I wanted to flesh out his story a bit more before we dive right into moving along the plot. Which means next chapter? FULL OF OLICITY. I'm so excited to write it out. I couldn't help myself and gave you guys a teaser near the end of this chapter. Is there such a thing as a good and bad cliffhanger? LOL. Don't worry, the next chapter will come soon, promise! And look at Oliver... he's already smoaked. *Sighs happily*. Go get that hammer, girl. :)
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think in the comments or leave a kudos or whatever! 
> 
> B-T-W, if you have any questions or comments for me regarding the fic, the best way to contact me is through my tumblr. My username is potter-lovegood. :)
> 
> Also, CONGRATS TO THE OLICITY FANDOM! We won MTV Ship of the Year! Yay us! 
> 
> Love you guys. Have a great week!


	5. The Second Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Oliver go on their first date, learning more about each other. Of course, no first date is complete without Tommy Merlyn popping in to try and mack on Oliver's girl.

_**A Few Hours Earlier** _

* * *

 

“Watermelon earrings?” Sara asked humorously as Felicity finished slipping on the backs to her earrings.

Felicity shot her a dirty look out of her corner of her eyes.

“Watermelons are delicious, and adorable. Everyone likes watermelon. Everyone. Plus, not all of us like to wear leather six out of seven days a week.”

Her friend tried to refrain from smiling. “Someone sounds a little jealous to me.”

“Hey,” Felicity pointed her wand at Sara warningly, “I can rock me some leather. Have you ever seen me in leather pants? This booty--” she tapped her butt with her wand, “--is fabulous.”

At that, Sara’s laughter filled the tiny bathroom they were both squeezed in. “Should I tell Oliver that?”

“No need,” Felicity mumbled, looking at herself in the mirror and smoothing out any loose hairs around the sides of her ponytail, “I’m sure I’ll be able to manage all kinds of word-vomit all on my own.”

“Oh, I am counting on it,” Sara smirked. Felicity paused, quirking an eyebrow at the blond-haired Slytherin next to her.

“Sara… what is that suppose to mean?”

“Nothing,” the girl gave her an innocent look, “not like I bet galleons on it or anything…”

A hair brush went whizzing past her as she quickly ducked.

“SERIOUSLY?” The Ravenclaw’s voice echoed through the room.

“It’s all in good fun!” Sara said, exasperated as Felicity rounded on her, giving her a glare that could kill. “Jeez, you are really terrifying underneath all that cute quirkiness, aren’t you?”

The pseudo-compliment calmed Felicity enough that her anger disappeared into a loud huff of breath as she turned once more towards the mirror, adjusting her glasses for the umpteenth time. “So, who are you betting with? I have a hard time believing Nyssa would be involved in this.”

Sara clicked her tongue. “Nope, it’s not Nyssa, and I’m not telling you because you would, quite literally, kill me if you knew. Plus, you don’t know her anyway… yet.”

Felicity groaned. “Yet? So you’re telling me that I am going to inevitably meet some strange woman who has had the unfortunate pleasure of hearing all about my embarrassing babblings and has actually bet money on it? Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Don’t worry,” Sara said, playing with the end of Felicity’s ponytail, “I’m on your side. It’s all in good fun. Both of us want this to go well.”

“Might I remind you that I am a talented hacker and that you have a cellphone that you frequently leave alone and unguarded?” Felicity teased, a mischievous smile on her face as her reflection winked at Sara’s. “Just putting that out there.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Smoak, but that particular talent won’t help you with this one.”

“If she’s on the internet, I can find her,” Felicity threatened smugly. Sara only let out a giggle, but said no more on the subject, the two falling into a comfortable silence.

Sara had, at first, not been keen on the idea of Felicity going out with Oliver, though she wouldn’t elaborate as to why. Felicity simply assumed it had something to do with Laurel, Sara’s sister, who dated Oliver for a short period of time. But something told her there was something more to it. Still, whatever it was, it must not have been that horrendous, because after the initial shock wore off of Felicity Smoak going on a date (it was a date, right? Oh, Merlin, was she looking too much into this?) with the Wizarding World’s favorite Wizard Billionaire Oliver Queen (Sara’s words, not hers), Sara was all in and made sure to be there while Felicity was getting ready, which Felicity was very thankful for. She felt like there was a bundle of nerves inside of her stomach just waiting to explode, though she didn’t exactly know why. She had only met him once, but she still remembered the way his voice sounded, so low, in her ear. The memory of it gave her pause, and she couldn’t help but sigh to herself. Despite being kind of an ass, he was quite endearing.  
Finally stepping away from the sink, Felicity smoothed out her dress and showcased herself to Sara. “Well, what do you think?”

Sara nodded in approval, folding her arms.

“Very, very nice. Oliver won’t know what hit him. But, we don’t just want to shock him...”

Felicity gave her friend a confused, questioning look.

Opening one of the bathroom drawers where a pile of unorganized makeup was strewn about, Sara picked out something in a black, gold-rimmed tube. Felicity immediately recognized it. A bright red lipstick that matched perfectly with her choice of shoes, and paired fantastically with her overall look.

“This,” Sara said, popping off the lid, “will absolutely slay him.”

* * *

Okay, she lied. There wasn’t a bundle of nerves in her stomach waiting to explode.

 _There was an entire army of nerves ready to detonate a nuclear bomb inside her gut_.

Walking through the crowd in Diagon Alley, she could barely breathe, and not just because of how tightly pushed together everyone was.

With shaking hands, she reached down to the clutch hanging by its chain around her shoulder, opening it and unraveling the small letter that was beginning to wrinkle and tear from being read so many times over the past 48 hours.

 _Dear Felicity,_  
_Obscurus Books in Diagon Alley. 2:30p.m. I’ll see you soon, Ms. Smoak._

 _Yours truly,_  
_Oliver Queen_

Breathing deeply in an attempt to calm herself, she folded it back up into her clutch, snapping it closed. Looking up and around, she finally saw the bookstore’s wooden sign hanging by a metal pole from the second story, gently rocking in the breeze. As she approached it, searching for Oliver, her eyes quickly found him when they caught a waving motion near the front door of the shop.

It took exactly 1.2 seconds for her to lose her cool. Unable to stop the corner of her lips from twisting upwards so high her cheeks felt strained, her legs, which were surely turning into jello, managed to somehow carry her over to him.  
_Frack,_ she thought as she approached him, brain instantly going into overdrive.

_Ohhh Merlin, what do I say? What do I do? He’s so good looking. How did I forget how good looking he is?! Why did I not prepare for this!? Get yourself together, Felicity!_

She was so lost in her own nervousness, she almost didn’t notice the way his eyes rolled over her, but she did. A warmth spread deep in her belly and she felt a burn in the back of her neck that had nothing to do with the sun bearing down on them.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Queen.”

She doesn’t mean for it to sound so… so _suggestive_? The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop it, instantly regretting them when they are met with silence, Oliver hesitating to respond.

 _Fancy meeting you here!?_ Her mind screamed, _Not, ‘oh, hi Oliver’ or ‘Hey Oliver!’ or ‘It’s nice to see you again, Oliver!’ Seriously Felicity, It’s literally been one minute and twelve seconds and you sound like some seductress ready to shove a love potion down his throat._

Thankfully, Oliver pulled her out of her mind when he gave her a broad, confident grin.

“And you, Ms. Smoak,” he went along playfully. Then, he struggled, his fingers flexing at his side as he spoke. “It’s--uhm--it’s good to see you…”

“You, too,” Felicity said awkwardly, wondering, _should I hug him? Should I shake hands with him? Oh god, what is the proper hello for this situation???_

Oliver chuckled. “I have no idea.”

“What?” Felicity looked at him, confused.

“You said, _what is the proper hello for this situation_?”

Her eyes widened in shock and embarrassment, blushing profusely. “I--I said that out loud? Oh, oh god. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that--I mean--”

_Felicity stop, stop now, stop--_

“--it’s just this is all kind of strange isn’t it? Not bad strange, mind you, because I am really, really excited for today and I’m really glad I hunted you down...and by hunting you down, I mean finding you, because I was thinking of you a lot and--No, wait, did I just say I thought about you a lot?” Nervous giggles bubbled up and out of her throat, “I didn’t mean that--not that I didn’t think of you, obviously, because if I didn’t I wouldn’t have written to you, and we wouldn’t be here right now, and you wouldn’t get to hear me babble which you should really, really stop me because--”

“Felicity,” Oliver said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. His touch emitted an instant calmness in her, the warmth underneath his palm which nearly consumed her entire shoulder settling her. He tilted his head, gazing at her. “I’m excited, too.”  
Letting his hand fall back to his side, she gave him a tiny nod, swallowing hard. She felt goosebumps run down her arm from his fading touch.

“Good,” she murmured, “that’s… good. So… um, what are the plans for today, then?”

“Well,” Oliver cleared his throat, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a lot of shopping to do for school books this year, seeing as we’re taking N.E.W.T. classes.”

“Errrr yeah. About that…” Felicity bit her lip, looking guilty. “I kind of… haven’t looked at my O.W.L.S yet.”

Oliver’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Are you _sure_ you’re a Ravenclaw?” He asked teasingly.

“Yes!” Felicity feigned offense, crossing her arms. “I am, trust me. It’s just that… well, I don’t know. It’s scary.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person to be scared of much.”

“Kangaroos,” Felicity deadpanned, smile vanishing at the thought.

“What?”

“Kangaroos. They freak me out. A lot. Also I’m not really a fan of ‘divination’,” she wiggled her hands and fingers in a weird way, “you know, all that creepy tea leaf reading stuff? I mean, Merpeople? Actual, real life Merpeople which--might I add, The Little Mermaid totally got that wrong--exist outside of fairy tales. I can deal with the craziness of Merpeople. Know why? Because they stay on their side of the lake and keep their scaly parts to themselves. But people who can like, see into the future for real? Weird. Creepy with a capital C,” she brought her hand up, fingers straight, and slanted them sideways, adding, “and italics for emphasis.”

“So, no future dates in Australia, and no fortune tellers. Noted,” Oliver said, voice laced with amusement. She forced a straight face at his words, though her heart skipped.

“Future dates? Isn’t that a tiny bit presumptuous?”

Her pulse increased tenfold when he laughed (she really, really liked that sound) and stepped closer, leaning in to her.

“I can be _very_ charming, Felicity,” he said, voice deep and low so only she could hear. Felicity had to literally bite her tongue to keep from bursting out into babbling nonsense, instead busying her hands with the zippers on her clutch and avoiding looking directly at him, knowing that if she did she might not be able to stop herself.

 _Ass_ , she thought. _Complete, pompous, ass._

Thankfully, Oliver did not allow her to stir in her thoughts for long.

“Well, since Ms. I’m-scared-of-my-O.W.L.S Ravenclaw has no idea what she’s shopping for, maybe we could skip that and go check out some new school robes?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that particular jab on the account of _you_ ,” she poked him lightly on the chest, which, holy crap, was this guy made of steel or something? “taking me shopping.”

Instantly following those words, she realized how very _gold digger_ that sounded and scrambled to clarify.

“Not that I’m implying you should buy me anything! I brought my own money, because, you know… I’m good. With money. My own money. You taking me shopping and me using my own money. That is what I meant.”

If Oliver thought her comment indicated otherwise, it didn’t show. He only smirked at her and offered his arm, motioning towards the crowd with his free hand.

“Ready to take the plunge? My favorite robe shop is over on the east side, not far of a walk.”

She hesitated for a moment, staring at his arm. His sleeves were rolled up just above his elbows but it appeared as though the fabric was about to rip, his muscles were so large, his forearms impressively toned. She found herself with a strong desire to sink her nails into them. With a breath, she coiled her arm around his own, connecting them. He was so much taller and larger than her, even in her heels the top of her head barely met his forehead. It made her feel small yet oddly safe. Unconsciously (or consciously, she seriously didn’t know at this point because this kid was way too damn pretty) she rested her other hand on his bicep, and could practically feel the muscles move underneath her palm as they squeezed back into the main moving crowd, sticking dangerously close together.

“So,” Oliver spoke low and close to the cuff of her ear, “you must be in your sixth year, then, if you just took your O.W.L.S.”

“Correcto mundo,” Felicity replied, “are you? ‘Cause you look kind of--”

“--Old?” he finished for her, causing her to blush.

“Not in a bad way!”

“So you said last time we saw each other,” he grinned toothily, “I believe the word you used was _attractive_ …?”

“I recall calling you an ass,” she huffed under her breath. His eyebrows shot up, taken aback, though his lips stayed upturned.

“I don’t remember that part.”

“Probably ‘cause I thought it in my head. Multiple times. Among other things.”

Immediately her hand went up to her mouth and she cursed herself mentally. Why did she always have to make it sound like she had a mind full of filth!? But Oliver laughed, openly and loud, before peering down at her and licking his lower lip.  
“You’ll have to elaborate on those other things for me sometime.”

Felicity literally bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from responding to that, because, _wow_ , that nuclear bomb inside of her? About to go off.

“Anyway--” She breathed, and could have sworn she saw the smallest of disappointment in his face at returning to the original subject, “I don’t mean old as in like, sixty years old, I mean old as in like… I don’t know, you could be in your twenties, or something.”

Oliver gave a light shrug. “I’m seventeen, just like you. My birthday passed earlier this year. I’ll be eighteen by the seventh year, so I suppose I’m on the older side of the spectrum for students in their sixth year.”

“How do you know I’m seventeen? Felicity inquired, eyebrows knitted together. A mischievous twinkle shined in Oliver’s eyes. “I’m not without my abilities to find information on someone, Ms. Smoak, though I believe they are hardly as illegal as yours may be.”

She felt her stomach drop at his comment, opening her mouth to retaliate but being silenced as Oliver’s head, which had been kept tilted downwards to speak to her, popped up, feet coming to a halt and stopping Felicity as well.

“We’re here. Told you, short walk,” he winked down at her, causing her to swallow all her questions down. Slinking away from her, he walked towards the front door and opened it for her, a little bell ringing somewhere from above, motioning her to step through. 

“After you.”She obliged, stepping over the threshold, stunned by the intense smell of vanilla bean.

 _Twillfit and Tattings_ , the parlor was called. Students, most, if not all of them with their parents, shopping animatedly through the clothing. Robes, as well as dress pants and shoes, soared through the air, traveling to one witch or another. None of the clothing hung on anything, but simply hovered, changing size and colors according to the customers needs. As they stepped further in, Felicity following Oliver's lead, she watched as one witch, a red-haired girl, sighed heavily while looking at a grey blazer.  
  
“Why can’t it be red?” She heard the girl say. A second later, as though the fabric itself could hear her, the blazer instantly turned a deep maroon red. Squealing in delight, the girl grabbed both sleeves happily.

Felicity couldn’t help but gape at how smooth the shop ran. To the untrained eye, it may have appeared chaotic, with employees running to and fro, whisking their wands around, clothes and measurement rolls traveling above them to several different people at once, but Felicity could tell just by watching that these witches and wizards were very talented at multitasking multiple spells at once while still giving their attention to their customers. This was nothing like the shop that Felicity had gone to to buy her first robes. That place had been covered in dust, run by a very unhappy old woman who used old, hand-me down robes to rest her naked feet on. She shuddered at the memory.

“See anything you like?” Oliver said, looking back at her. She hadn’t noticed that she had slowed down to almost a stand-still, taking in everything around her.

Snapping her attention to him, she nodded briskly, smiling.

“This is _amazing_. I’ve never seen a shop run like this before. And the clothing…” she stepped towards one set of robes, running her fingers on it, the thread soft against her fingers.

“This is so nice. Way better than the old, grungy ones that I bought. Pretty sure my first robe used to belong to someone with a bad habit of getting into fights with wolves,” she grumbled humorlessly, though it made Oliver chuckle.

“Well, maybe we can get you some new ones too while we’re here.”

Felicity contemplated it for a moment, until she saw a tag with a price. Then, she laughed so loud she snorted.  
  
“Uh, yeah, no. Now I know why this place is so nice. Do you know how many super computers I could build with this kind of money? A hundred. A _hundred_ supercomputers, Oliver.”  
  
“And a supercomputer is...?” Oliver questioned. Felicity scoffed, shooting him a look of disbelief.

“I seriously, seriously worry for the future of Wizarding kind when I hear things like that,” She sighed, shaking her head. Oliver let out a low laugh, coming in to step next to Felicity, his hand reaching up to the small of her back, shuddering at the lightness of his touch.  
  
“Maybe you could teach me, then,” he mumbled, the sincerity of his words drowned out by the fact that he was speaking into her neck and she was pretty sure his breath was setting her skin on fire because suddenly it felt very, _very_ hot in here and dear lord, was it legal to sound as attractive as you looked?

She hesitated to move her head to face him directly, feeling extremely small and shy when she did, his hooded eyes gazing at her in a way that made her feel pinned to the spot.

Before she had a chance to respond, a heavy hand came out of nowhere, slamming down on Oliver’s shoulder, effectively killing the tension between the two.

“Well look who it is!” A voice called out, and Oliver instantly spun around.

For a moment, she swore she saw his hand reach for the wand that was snugly tucked into his front pocket, but it relaxed just as fast when he saw who it was behind him.

Something akin to a grimace flashed over his face, the stranger in question coming into full view. A guy that appeared to be the same age and height as Oliver, maybe a tad bit shorter, with a smug smile on his face that almost put Oliver’s to shame.

“Surely, it can’t be you,” the man said, crossing his arms, “Because if it was, then that would mean my best friend, the one I haven’t seen in months, has been actively avoiding me. Although, considering his company, I can see why.”

The man’s eyes traveled away from Oliver and settled on Felicity, who stared dumbfound back.

Before either of them could speak or move, the stranger brushed past Oliver, grabbing Felicity’s hand and hinging forward slightly, eyes twinkling mischievously as he brought it to his mouth.

“A pleasure to meet you, Felicity Smoak,” he murmured as his lips rested gently on her skin, “the names Tommy Merlyn.”

 

* * *

 

Tommy was lucky that he was in a public place pulling this shit because he was going to _fucking throttle him for it._

Oliver felt his teeth grind watching his best friend kiss Felicity’s hand in greeting, suppressing the urge to hex his lips right off his mouth as he came back up, grinning toothily. Thankfully, Felicity wasn’t falling for it, appearing more confused and uncomfortable than anything else, which angered him more.

“Tommy,” Oliver growled throatily through a clenched jaw. It was a warning more than a greeting, but Tommy ignored him, attention completely on Felicity.

“I saw that you were looking at this,” He says, nodding towards the robes that she was just inspecting. “But, to be honest, I think a _Ravenclaw_ like yourself would appreciate a more… innovative style.”

Without once catching eyes with Oliver, Tommy reaches down to grab her hand again and this time, Oliver can see a tinge of red begin to brandish her cheeks and he is beyond pissed that it not because of him and right now all he wants to do is grab her and leave but fuck, he isn’t a Neanderthal.

“How do you…?” Felicity is about to ask, but Oliver already knows the answer to that. It’s the same way he knows a few things about her.

Sara.

“I have my ways, Felicity,” he winks at her, and Oliver’s suspicions are confirmed. His fingers are now resting on the end of his wand in his pocket, blood boiling. He watches as Tommy leads her towards a less busy part of the parlor, motioning his free hand to a set of robes hanging mid-air.

“See this? These robes are apart of the Enchanted collection. Pricey, but damn if it isn’t worth it. Each one has special charms on it to help in certain areas. This one,” he finally let go of her palm, which lessened the tight coil in Oliver’s chest only slightly, and gripped two opposite ends of the robe, fanning it out and revealing a dark blue shade underneath, “this one has complicated charm called a--”

But Felicity doesn’t give him the chance the finish, cutting him off.

“--a Slowing charm,” she interrupts, voice full of awe.

He eyes are wide behind her thick-rimmed glasses as she nearly pushes Tommy aside to grab onto the robes herself, moving as if in a trance. Satisfaction seizes Oliver as Tommy appears genuinely put-out by her sidelining him, and he cannot help but shoot his friend a smirk that says,  _nice try_. He is sent back a frown in return.

“This is… _this is amazing!_ Oliver,” The sound of his name on her lips immediately grabs his full attention, though she doesn’t face him as she speaks, “do you realize how intricate, how difficult this charm is?! It actually slows time around the individual it’s cast on, even though for everyone else time moves normally. It can take hours, _days_ , to finish the spell. This is incredible! I knew enchanted robes existed but this… I’ve only ever read about this charm! Oh my god, this is--this is--”

her head finally whips around, ponytail smacking Tommy directly in the face as she does, warranting a small _hey!_ from his mouth, but Oliver pays it no mind, his sights glued onto Felicity’s hand which has reached out to grip his arm.

“Oliver, I know I sound like a gigantic charms nerd right now, but--”

The combination of the unexpected physical contact and the way she is staring up at him with her teeth sunk into her red, bottom lip ever so slightly, eyes full of excitement and hopefulness, actually makes him dizzy. But she doesn’t need to explain, he understands what she’s about to ask for. She is a Ravenclaw, after all.

He places his own hand atop hers, and the softness of her skin against his calloused palm causes his pulse to quicken involuntarily.

“It’s okay. Go,” he tells her softly, feeling his own lips turn up into a smile as the grin on her face spreads wide and she looks so damn adorable and thrilled that he is going to have to stop himself from buying her the whole fucking collection. He almost regrets it when she pulls her hand away from him, but the happiness ballooning in his chest just watching her shop eagerly through the different robes pushes that aside.

He had been so absorbed in watching her, he nearly forgot Tommy was still there. It was his friends chuckle that brought him back down to earth.

“So that’s what kind of studying you’ve been doing all summer,” his friend smirked, and the assumption hanging in the air from his words sends a surge of annoyance through him.

“It’s not like that,” Oliver asserts. He is going to nip the idea forming in Tommy’s brain _right now._

“Oh, so you have been ignoring me all summer then?” He snaps back, the charming gentleman facade replaced with a look of anger and, mostly, disappointment.

Oliver felt a wormhole of regret in his gut, the literal piles of letters sent to him by Tommy over the past few months immediately coming to mind, each one less hopeful than the last. Only maybe three or four of them answered, all with the same ‘Maybe later’ or ‘Sorry, man’ scribbled at the end. He had ignored his friend, his best friend, a man he considered a brother, all summer. He couldn’t take the blame completely, though. Then again, he also couldn’t exactly tell Tommy that he had spent his time off running “special” errands for his father, getting his ass wrecked in training by psychotic wizards, and using the cruciatus curse to torture information out of Russians chained up in the prison underneath his houses award-winning garden.

So he improvises.

“You know my dad,” Oliver discloses, “the older I get, the more he’s on my ass to learn about the family business, getting stronger with my wand skills and… studying whatever the hell it is that’s suppose to make me his doppelganger.” It’s not quite a lie, not quite a truth, but it deflates Tommy enough that his stance softens and a sympathetic look falls over his face.

“That sucks major Merlin ass,” he sighs. “I’m… sorry. I know how it is. My dad’s already been threatening to cut me off after I get out of school if I don’t pass my N.E.W.T. classes. Like i’m gonna need them anyway. I don’t even want to be a fucking businessman.”

Frustration that has nothing to do with Oliver shines in Tommy’s eyes, and Oliver feels for him. Tommy is in the same boat as him, the only heir to an empire and no desire to take the mantle. But unlike Oliver, Tommy wasn’t disciplined. Oliver may have been able to hide how fucked up he was, mostly because he had no choice, but Tommy had no such chains. His friend was a typical playboy billionaire who flaunted his title and his galleons at any given point. Oliver and him skipped classes on more than one occasion but unlike Oliver, Tommy didn’t dabble in illegal magic and wand handling at home. But Tommy had qualities that Oliver did not; he was far more charming, more of a schmoozer, and got along with nearly everyone. He had little to no enemies, and girls and women alike adored him. It surprised no one when he got sorted into Hufflepuff, a house whose emblem he wore with pride. Despite his mother's death when he was a child and the despondent attitude of his father, Tommy had grown into an easy-going, loving person who always put others before himself.

A friend that Oliver, quite frankly, did not deserve.

“Tommy Merlyn, broke? Guess you could always find a suga’ witch,” Oliver smirked. Tommy crossed his arms, tilting back on his heels as he sighed happily, as though transporting himself mentally to another realm. “That would be amazing. I _do_ have a thing for older woman.”

 _That was an understatement,_ Oliver thought, recalling that most of Tommy’s serious relationships were always with girls taller _and_ older than him.

“But y’know,” Tommy nodded his head sideways, “she’s pretty damn cute. I mean, watermelon earrings? Come on.”

He doesn’t have to say who he’s talking about, Oliver already knows. Even though he’s been talking to Tommy, his eyes have stayed on Felicity, who was currently investigating a robe with golden constellations threaded throughout the rims and insides, her glasses perched at the very tip of her nose.

“Dude, if you keep staring at her like that, your eyes are going to turn into little hearts with wings and fly away.”

There was an audible _crack_ as Oliver turned his neck to glare at his friend, whose hands came up in front of him defensively.

“Dumbledore’s balls, Oliver, chill, man! It was just a joke. Don’t hex me for it.”

Oliver only huffed, eyes narrowing back to Felicity, who had moved onto a robe that Oliver could not see, since her back was to him and her body was shielding it from view. His mouth went dry staring at the outlines of her curves, the dress hugging each one just right. The way the rim of her dress hovered just above the outline of her ass was not lost on him, either.

 _Fuck,_ he really shouldn’t be looking at her like that. They barely knew each other yet.

Tearing his eyes away, he settled his attention back to Tommy, trying to ignore the sudden tightness below his belt.

“Tommy… I really am sorry for not hanging out with you at all. Honestly, I’d rather be doing some stupid shit with you than what my father had me doing for the past few months.”

That statement definitely wasn’t a lie, and the words came out a lot more sincerely because of it. Tommy gave Oliver a rough pat on the shoulder.

“It’s alright, man,” he said, “we’ll have plenty of time to cause trouble at school, anyway. I just missed having you around, is all. You know I can’t stand being at my place. It’s like a fucking funeral home there. But it’s cool. Laurel, Sara and I hung out a lot, so…”

 _Laurel. Sara._ Two names, both invoking completely different emotions from him. He frowned.

“She’s going to give me the scolding of a lifetime next time I see her, isn’t she?” There doesn’t need to be a name in that sentence, they both know who he is talking about.

“Yup,” Tommy says, popping the _‘p’_. He grips Oliver’s shoulder with two hands and shakes him slightly. “Don’t worry, man. I’ll make sure the world knows you died a brave death.”

At that, Oliver actually laughs.

Their conversation comes to a halt when a familiar female voice speaks up.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but--wait, am I interrupting a moment right now? Because this looks like a moment, and I have the tendency to ruin those. Which is what I’m doing. Right now.”

Felicity has returned, and both the boys look at her with amusement when her cheeks go slightly pink, eyes shifting between the two of them.

“Sorry. I ruined it, didn’t I? Your moment. I told you. Me. Ruiner. Bad… things…” her voice trails off nervously and the laughter that emits from Tommy causes her skin to flush deeper.

“We weren’t having a moment, Felicity. Don’t worry.”

“Oh,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Good, because I have a serious track record when it comes to doing that. Like, keep an embarrassing journal with bullet points and dates locked in my bottom dresser drawer kind of track record. But youuuu don’t need to know about my embarrassment journals.”

She closed her eyes tightly, wincing.

“Forget I said that. Please.”

Oliver instantly makes it his mission to check her bottom dresser drawer for such journals, an objective that is forgotten as quickly as it came when the thought of him being in her bedroom crosses his mind, taking hostage all other innocent ideas.

“Seriously, Oliver, she’s far too adorable for you,” Tommy jests. “Anyway, I’ll let you two lovebirds go. Enjoy the rest of your date, and…” he gave Felicity his signature playboy Tommy Merlyn smile that he used on most women that involved his pearly whites and a suggestive eyebrow, “be kind to this one, would you? Beneath his rough exterior is nothing but a gooey, warm cente--- _shit_!”

A puff of fire cracking on the cuff of his shirt sleeve shuts Tommy up real quick as he panics to put the tiny flame out, hissing curses as he does. Oliver holds back a snicker as he discreetly slips his wand back into his front pocket. Felicity, whom he knows notices, cracks a small smile.

“You were saying?” The underlying snark in his polite prompt was suffocating, but Tommy just shoots him a glare and then leans in towards Felicity, whispering, “ _Gooey warm center,_ ” just loud enough for Oliver to hear. He thumbs the end of his wand, but Felicity’s laugh stops him. It fades far too soon for his liking as Tommy waves goodbye to both of them, leaving them to each other once more.

“So,” Felicity pokes his arm, “I found you something.”

He raises one eyebrow, intrigued. “You found me something? You don’t even know what I like.”

“I’ve got good taste,” she winks, and just like that, he follows her without objection.

To his surprise, she wasn’t lying.

In one of the small corners is a dark, green robe with a hood attached. The material is similar to leather, but he’s not sure what kind, as the robe weighs little to nothing despite the thickness of it as he inspects it.

“It’s fabric mixed with scales from the Brazilian Nightkeeper dragon. That’s what gives it a green tint and why it’s so featherweight. That dragon is known for its stealth and ability to camouflage within the rainforests of Brazil,” she informed him, as though reading his mind, leaning back against a wall with arms crossed. He stares at her, taken aback.

“Know a lot about dragons?”  
“Ehh, so-so,” she makes a funny face and shrugs, “I was really into all those fantasy and sci-fi books when I was younger. When I found out some of that stuff was actually real, well... I like to know things. I wanted to learn everything I could about… everything. As much as I could fit inside my eleven year old noggin’, anyway. Knowledge is power, right?”

Oliver dwells on her words for a moment, looking at her. It almost seems like she regrets it, sharing that little piece of information about herself with him, but then she gives him a small, momentary smile and he knows she doesn’t. Elation fills his chest, and he can’t help but grin picturing a smaller, first-year Felicity holed up in the common room surrounded by whatever books she could get her hands on.

His eyes dip back to the robe, fingers running over the material, considering it, but Felicity steps next to him, tilting her head to the side.

“You should definitely try it on. You know. For reasons.”

He smirks. “And those reasons are?”

She puts a finger up to her lips and whispers. “That’s classified information, Mr. Queen.”

The urge to grab her by her waist, pull her forward and kiss that soft, red mouth of hers is literally crippling when she says those words.

He knows by the impish sparkle in her eyes that she knows exactly what she is doing, which makes it that much better when he responds, “As you wish, Ms. Smoak,” a few octaves lower than necessary.

The shudder that goes through her is beyond satisfying.

 

* * *

 

 

The robe, it turns out, fits him perfectly, and Felicity feels proud of herself for finding it. When he pauses to put the hood over his face, Felicity can’t help but roll her tongue over her lips. She’s not going to lie, the way it hovers just over his eyes, baby blues dark under the shadow, forcing her to focus on the stubble lining his strong jaw and lips, makes the desire to kiss him difficult to suppress. There was something intensely attractive about the green leather against his skin. But did _he_ like it? It was hard to tell due to his stoic features as he analyzed himself in the mirror.

“How do I look?”

She has to gulp back her real answer, and instead gives him something just as good and true.

“Like a Slytherin.”

The tiny twitch on the corner of his lips and the sultry gaze he’s sending her way says it all. Pulling back the hood and unclasping the robe, he waved down one of the wizards and in seconds, galleons are exchanged and the robe is magically shrunk to fit into a tiny burlap bag that slides into his back pocket with ease.

Despite her begging him not to, he also buys her a robe, mumbling something about _it’s really not that big of a deal, I got one, you should get one, too,_ even though Felicity is quite certain she has never owned anything this expensive in her life. Still, the robe has intricate bronze constellations threaded into the inside fabric, and she absolutely adores it, carefully placing the small bag they give her into her clutch.  
Back out into Diagon Alley, the streets have thinned, so they decide to make way for the ice-cream parlor on the opposite side. Despite losing each other in the crowd being no longer a threat, Oliver still offers his arm to her, and she doesn’t hesitate to take the opportunity to feel up his muscles again.

Marybelle’s NeverMelt Ice-Cream Shop is all abuzz, nearly all the tables inside full, a few on the outside patio empty. Oliver, much bigger and bulkier than Felicity, goes in first and is like a giant missile the way he maneuvers straight through the crowd and into the line. It doesn’t take either of them long to decide what they want: Mint Chocolate Chip. Oliver gets a heavy drizzle of chocolate sauce on his, while Felicity gets several dollops of whip cream on hers. It’s a happy coincidence that both of them like the same flavor of ice-cream, and Felicity tucks the fact into a mental registry in her head that she’s been keeping since she met him.

They decide to sit at a table outside, and the ice-cream proves true to its claim to fame, never melting despite the weather. Felicity makes a remark about enchanted food probably not being safe to eat, but Oliver reminds her of the magically appearing and refilling food at Hogwarts and she realizes he has a point. They sit in comfortable silence for the first few moments, people watching as hoards of wizards and witches alike filter through the shop, enjoying their ice-cream.

“So,” Felicity breaks the lull, “I don’t mean to point out the obvious, but… how did you end up at Hogwarts, if you don’t mind me asking? ‘Cause your accent sounds pretty American to me.”

Oliver pauses on his mint chip for a moment. “I am,” he says after a moment. “I was born in Starling City. My father, he owns Queen Consolidated-"

“The leaders of Magical Tech and Theory,” Felicity says absentmindedly. He narrows his eyes and she notices his smile is gone and his fingers have begun drumming slowly on the table.

“Yes,” he nods, “that’s correct. Their headquarters are in Starling, but my father moved us to the branch in London when I was young.”

“Us? You mean you and your mom?”

“My sister Thea and I.”

She makes an _oh_ with her mouth. She didn’t know he had any siblings. Most of the emphasis when it came to Wizarding magazines were always on Oliver, his mother or his father.

“We practically grew up here, I guess. We got letters of acceptances for Wizarding schools all over when we came of age. I almost got sent to Durmstrang, actually,” his mouth twitches in amusement from the memory, then disappears, “but I wanted Hogwarts. Most of my family, including my father, had gone to school there. It was in our blood, our history. It made more sense.”

Felicity shook her head in understanding. “Do you like it? At Hogwarts, I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s still school, but it feels like--”

“Home,” Felicity and Oliver say it at the same time. She doesn’t mean to, but her mind is recalling back when she first started at Hogwarts, and the word comes out so easily at the mere memory that she can’t help it. They share a surprised look, but then he smiles warmly at her, and she feels her heart skip. The drumming of his fingers comes to a stop.

“What about you? You’re obviously American as well. Where are you from?”

Felicity lets out a strained laugh. “Ugh, do you really want to know?”

“Now I do,” he grinned, amused.

“Las Vegas,” she grimaced.

“Really?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. We moved here once I got my letter from Hogwarts. I didn’t get one from anywhere else, so… it was kind of a no-brainer. Not that my mom was exactly on board at first.”

“What about your dad?”

The question is innocent. She knows that. But the mere mention of her ghost of a father still has the ability to put her stomach in knots and she can practically feel her eyes glaze over. Oliver picks up on it immediately, his hand reaching over, fingertips brushing her arm. The touch brings her back.

“Hey,” his voice is tender, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

“He left when I was a kid,” Felicity tells him flatly. His mouth shuts tightly. A beat of silence.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again, resting his hand back on the table. Felicity shakes her head, managing a small smile.

“It’s okay. It’s not like you knew. Anyway,” she took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind of those thoughts, “My mom, she’s not a witch or anything. I don’t think he was either, but I don’t know. Regardless, I got the magic touch, so off to the U.K. I went.”

“How’d your mom take it?”

“After the initial ‘ _oh my god my child can set things on fire_ ’ shock wore off? She wanted to know how long it would be until I learned how to charm someone into falling in love with her,” Felicity said, giggling, Oliver laughing with her. “Other than that, she was surprisingly accepting. My mom’s used to weird things, though. Perks of living in Las Vegas.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there,” Oliver shares, his eyes drifting off, staring into the crowd moving up and down Diagon Alley. “Or just travel, really. See the world.”

“Uh, no offense but, you’re kinda a billionaire,” Felicity crooked an eyebrow at him. “I doubt that dream is far out of your reach.”

His fingers begin to drum again, and he doesn’t respond. _Damn_ , she thinks, watching him. There was something about his family or his title that he really didn’t like talking about. She wanted to ask about it, wanted to know more about him, wanted to make it better, whatever it was, but she resisted. Instead, she did the only thing she could think to do, which was put her hand on top of his and squeeze it.

He turned his head to look at her, startled. But then a smile crept to his face. They said nothing for a moment, but it was enough. As strange as it sounded, Felicity felt oddly… connected to him. Then again, there were weirder things out there. Like Merpeople. She cringed.

“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked, noticing.

“Nothing, just thinking about Merpeople,” she sighed, making Oliver snicker.

“Really? You’ve got all this in front of you, and you’re thinking of Merpeople?”

Felicity scoffed. “Excuse you? _‘All this’_? Slow your roll, Don Pablo.”

“Whose Don Pablo?”

She groaned.

“You’re killing me, Oliver.”

“What a way to go, though,” he doesn’t miss a beat and she wants to reach over the table and smack his arrogant grin right off his face. Instead, the complete opposite happens, and she feels his fingers thread through hers, holding her hand. The move is subtle, and she’s certain he doesn’t even notice that he’s done it, but he follows her eyes and sees it. She swears there’s a faint blush on his cheeks, but it disappears as fast as it comes. Neither of them move away, and Felicity can’t help but feel like her hand fits perfectly in his.

The next few minutes is spent with idle chatter as they finish their ice-cream. She learns a bit more about him, like how his sister is the first Gryffindor in their family for generations, and how she is an expert on getting under his skin. Despite that, it’s obvious to Felicity how much he cares for her. He also finds out about her strange magical ability to manipulate technological muggle devices, though she’s pretty sure she loses him completely when she starts getting into the technicalities of it. Still, he attempts to understand, which is more than she can say about most people. She even admitted to him that this particular talent had helped her find out where he lived.

“So you hacked into some… computer… for information about my private residence, figured out the protective charm on it and conjured a somehow stronger counter-charm on yourself in order to remember it, and then sent me a letter like it was no big deal?”

_Well, when you put it like that…_

“Is that judgement I’m hearing?” She winced.

“Pride,” he grinned happily, and she smiled so wide her cheeks hurt.

They switched subjects to classes and Hogwarts and Quidditch. Apparently Oliver has always loved flying, but never tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch team due to his sister's fear that he might seriously injure himself in a game. She learns he’s taking only a handful of N.E.W.T classes, most if not all of them heavily spell-based, and he learns that she’s obsessed with charms and Magical Theory. She tries her best to avoid mentioning his family's business, instead focusing on anything but. The conversation remains light-hearted, and their hands remained locked together throughout it.

It isn’t until a large bell sounds throughout Diagon Alley that the reality of time sets in and reminds them that they don’t have all the time in the world.

“Frick. It’s 6 o’clock already?” said Felicity, leaning back in her chair. “When did it get so late? I didn’t realize we were here for so long.”

“Should’ve bought you that cloak with the Slowing Charm,” Oliver joked weakly, though he sounded as disappointed as she felt.

“The fact that you bought me a robe at all is enough. Seriously,” she held up her clutch that was laying on the table with her free hand and shook it, coins jingling inside, “Money. I have it. Not looking for charity.”

“It was a gift, not charity,” He rolled his eyes. “It was only fair. You helped me pick out a new robe. I thanked you by buying you yours.”

“That robe does look pretty good on you…”

“Just pretty good?”

She gulps. Is he trying to get her into trouble? She managed not to make any sexual innuendos this far into the conversation, she wasn’t going to start now if she could help it. Instead, she flirts back.

“About as good as I’ll look in the robe you gave me.”

The retort puts him dead in his place as she watches him turn over that idea in his head, his hand squeezing hers a bit tighter. The air is thick between them.

“We’ll have to test that theory once school starts,” Oliver states, and there’s a throatiness in his tone that makes her shift uncomfortably in her chair. _Why the hell did he have to use that voice on her?_

“Anyway,” she quickly changes the subject before her mind gets the better of her mouth, “I really should get going. My mom will be home soon and I don’t want her to worry.”

“Alright,” he nodded. For the first time since they started holding hands, their fingers break reluctantly from each other. She’s already looking forward to the next time it happens… if there is a next time. She doesn’t want to consider the idea that there won’t be.

Oliver walks her over to the Diagon Alley entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, her arm wrapped around his.

“I don’t live far from here, so I’m okay with just walking. We don’t have a fireplace where I live and I don’t own a broom, so,” she explained to him.

He offers, of course he does, to walk her home, but she shakes her head, much to his chagrin.

“I’ll be fine,” he gives her a disbelieving look, but she pats his arm reassuringly. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

She has a feeling he will anyway.

Once it dawns on them that this is where they part ways, there’s a definite aversion to saying goodbye. Both of them end up breaking the silence at the same time.

“I had a great time--”

“I really enjoyed today--”

They pause for a moment before laughing at themselves.

“Sorry, I’m uh, I’m not used to dates going this well,” Felicity blushes, adjusting her glasses nervously. “Usually at this point I’ve said something so incredibly bad or babbled so much that people run in the other direction.”

“I considered it once or twice,” Oliver said, immediately changing his tune at the glare she was giving him. “Kidding! Erm…” He trailed off, sounding nervous. “Felicity, I… I really liked spending time with you. It was… it’s been a better day than I’ve had in awhile.”

She doesn’t know how, but she knows, just by the way he’s looking at her, eyes settling on her mouth, that he’s being sincere.

All of the sudden, the tension between them shifts. Heat rises on her skin as he tilts himself forward, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek, their faces so incredibly close together...

For a moment, the world stops, her breath catching in her throat.

But all he does is kiss her other cheek, his lips so unreasonably gentle, the stubble on his skin prickling her in a way that shoots electricity down her spine. The act is innocent, and not what she’s expecting, but it’s enough to leave her woozy and she closes her eyes, not wanting him to pull away. But he does, and it takes all of her willpower not to stop him.

Letting his hand fall away, he took a step back from her, a small smile on his face when she opens her eyes to see him. Something about it tells her that he wanted to do more, but something was holding him back. She exhaled, finally remembering to breathe.

“Thank you for today, Felicity. I look forward to the next time I see you.”

She gulped, a million emotions shifted through her, mentally and physically.

“Yeah, school starts pretty soon,” she says lamely, immediately regretting it when his face falls slightly. “I mean--I mean I want to see you before that, if I can!” She quickly adds, then, hesitantly, “If… if you want to, that is.”

The happy expression is back and she watches him sigh, his head bobbing a bit to the side as he does, grinning at her.

“I would love to,” he says earnestly, and her heart swells.

“Good.” She says with a big nod of her head.

“Good,” he repeats.

Their goodbye is sad, but sweet. They hug, his body practically consuming hers. As they turn to go their separate ways, both of them catch each other looking back, sharing sheepish, guilty smiles before disappearing into their respective exits. Stepping back out into the Muggle world as if in a daze, her raised her hand to feel the spot on her cheek where he had kissed her, feeling it burn under her fingertips, heart pounding in her chest.

 _Oh,_ Felicity, she thought to herself, _you are in way over your head._

 

* * *

  
Robert Queen stands, overlooking Diagon Alley below from his wall of windows, the sound of the giant bell bellowing in the distance, reminding the pinprick shaped people below that it’s time to return home to their families. A sign that his employees also follow, as he can hear his assistant shuffling papers in the room next door, finishing up whatever is left on her regime to do before she leaves.

He hears a crackle of something coming from the small fireplace that is situated in the dead middle of his office, a white, oval shape that goes with the overall modern and clean look of the building.

The noise gets louder, before a familiar voice echoes in the room.

“Good evening, Robert.”

The face that appears in a swirl of blue flame in his fireplace doesn’t surprise him, nor does it cause him to turn around. Robert Queen doesn’t need to. He already knows who it is.

“Malcolm,” he responds coolly, eyes still scanning the hoards of wizards and witches underneath, many of them moving towards the exit towards the Leaky Cauldron.

“How goes the progress of our endeavors?”

Typical. Merlyn immediately went to business. Robert couldn’t remember the last time he contacted him for any other reason.

It wasn’t always like that, but things had changed.

“Steady,” said Robert, adjusting the cuff links on his suit. “Kazimir gave us vital information that has helped unveil new properties concerning our project.”

He can practically hear the sneer in Malcolm’s voice as he speaks. “Excellent. I assume our prototype is underway, then?”

“Yes,” Robert replied stiffly. He hated talking about this subject in his office. Too many wandering ears. Despite the vast amount of privacy charms and protective spells that surrounded this particular room, Robert knew from experience that it meant little against a wizard capable enough. He wasn’t going to allow all his work to go unhinged over running his mouth. Malcolm must have picked up on this, because he heard the man chuckle darkly.

“Relax, Robert. You are far too worried, my friend.”

Friend was such a relative term when it came to Malcolm Merlyn. Robert breathed deeply, finally turning to look at the facial outline of the man in the flames of his fireplace, unable to hide his irritation.

“What is the point of this visit, Malcolm?” He asked impatiently. “You could have waited an hour from now to contact me at my home rather than my office about this. Has something come up that I need to know about?”

Malcolm sighed, shaking his head. “Fine, then. We’ll forgo pleasant conversation. Yes, there has been a… possible hiccup.”

With a loud crack, a document appeared midair in front of Robert. He hardly flinched, instead raising a curious eyebrow at it as it unrolled itself for him.

“My contacts have sent me some… troubling information. A problem has presented itself, and I’m sure once you finish reading, you will understand my concerns.”

Robert Queen scanned each line of the parchment, reading quickly. His throat went dry as he reached the end, hands twitching at his side.

“... I see,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have to explain to you the caution of which you must approach this, or that this information should be kept from… certain members of your circle.”

He doesn't need to elaborate. Robert already knows.

“Yes,” he agrees solemnly, grasping the hovering document and rolling it up himself, more-so to preoccupy his hands, his mind racing with thoughts.

A beat of silence between them as the issue at hand hangs in the air, the room feeling suddenly too small for Robert, despite the immense amount of space around him. It is Malcolm who speaks first, confirming fears that lay deep inside Robert’s being.

“You must have some idea of what I’m going to suggest.”

He breathes deeply through his nose. He didn’t even want to think of what Moira was going to say about this. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to bother telling her, a fight no doubt awaiting him about it. Robert narrowed his eyes away from the man’s face. There were many lines Robert had crossed in his lifetime, it was what got him to be where he stands today, trails of blood in his wake. Yet this put something far more important to him in the cross-hairs of something much bigger than both Malcolm and Robert.

“You are asking me to put my only son in the line of fire,” he states.

“No, I am telling you to do what you have to do, if it is the only choice that remains,” Malcolm snaps back.

 _What other choice would there be?_ Robert felt anger bubbling up inside of his chest.

“Give it some thought, Robert. I am sure you’ll come to similar conclusions. I’ll give you a few days to mull. By all means, if you find an alternative, I’m open to suggestion. But there is little other way we can handle this, and you and I both know that our children can’t stay children forever.” A pause. Robert refused to look at him, too consumed in his own thoughts. Were either of his children ever such?

“Think about it. I’ll be in contact with you soon. Oh, and…” the humor in his voice made his skin crawl, “tell Moira I said hello. I do miss her cooking.”

With that, the flame evaporated, the wood in the fireplace leaving no trace of ever being lit, absent of smoke. Robert stared down at the document in his hand, the weight of its contents making him feel as though he were sinking.

If his son didn’t already hate him, he would soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! This chapter was a bigg'n. SERIOUSLY. Over 9,000 words (there's a joke in there, I'm sure). I'm gonna go collapse in a pile of someone else's Olicity fic's now lol. And take a well-deserved break from my laptop screen.
> 
> So, I tried to fill this chapter up with as much Olicity goodness as possible. I hope you guys like it. I know that for some people, underage "tension" can be an issue so I went ahead and adjusted the tags/warnings as needed. I don't know if we're going to go into "smut" territory or not, so we'll cross that bridge when it comes. Of course, you couldn't have it ALL good... The plot doth thicken.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the appearance of Tommy Merlyn. I love him so much. I hope I did all the characters justice in this chapter and that you guys love it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much for all your feedback, it really is the wind beneath my wings when it comes to writing this beast.
> 
> Please PLEASE don't hesitate to let me know what you liked/didn't like about this chapter! Any and all comments are welcome. You can also always hit me up under my tumblr username potter-lovegood. I'm usually on there squealing at the top of my lungs about one thing or another.
> 
> Thank you guys. So much. I really do appreciate all of you reading this. Have a great week. I'll try to work on the next update once my fingers recuperate from this chapter. lol.


	6. The Phonecall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara drops in for a "discussion" about Oliver's intentions. Felicity teaches Oliver how to use a muggle cellphone.

  
Oliver felt the rope in his hand burn against his palm, the calloused skin only able to subside so much pain before it started to ripple through, yet it did not phase him.

Sweat dripped down his face in streams, falling into a puddle forming on the floor beneath him as he pulled, each muscle working to keep from releasing the five giant cinder blocks that were currently hanging over a large metal structure above him. He had managed to magick the rope so that it would not break from the strain, yet it did nothing to make his training easier.  
He grunted, teeth grinding against each other as he pushed forward, each step more agonizing than the last as the cinder blocks were lifted higher and higher. His eyes, squinted from the saltiness of the sweat rolling off his brow, were fixated on the white line a foot away from him. One more stride and he would make it. One more push, and he would get there…

With a deep inhale, he forced his body to move, despite the screaming pain that defied him, the middle of his foot crossing over the line. With a great exhale, he let the rope slip from his hand, making sure not to break form as he heard the blocks crash to the floor behind him, breaking from the fall. The released tension was immediate, but his being remained still for a moment. Breathing, waiting, collecting himself. Then, gently, he straightened, and allowed his muscles to relax.

Striding over to a bench nearby where his wand, several bottles of water, a small closed glass container and a few cloths were placed, he toweled himself off, the softness of the towel only bringing to attention the burning of his hands. The rope had left nasty red marks on both palms. Reaching down to grab the container next to his water, he twisted it open, revealing a green, mousse’ like substance inside. With his free fingers, he scooped a hefty amount out, and after closing and placing the container back down on the bench, rubbed it all over his palms.

It felt like he was placing both hands in ice cold water. Painful at first, but soothing after the initial shock. The material worked its magic, quickly bringing relief to the bruised skin, absorbing into his cells leaving what felt like a cool balm in its wake. It was small pleasures like this that Oliver would admittedly miss if he ever fell from his family’s wealth, as the healing butter in his possession was imported from India and had quite a hefty price tag, but nothing helped soothe the pain quite like it. Plus, it gave Raisa a well-deserved break.

He slumped into an empty spot on the bench, cracking open a water bottle and taking a swig before pouring it all over himself, letting the cool water run down his bare chest. His body felt sore… abused. His father had him training far more frequently as of late with no real explanation as to why. Usually, he would lay off, school being right around the corner. This was usually Oliver’s cool down time where he would spend time with friends and prepare for the school year, but Robert had been persistent in keeping him busy from all of that.

Any other year, this may not have bothered Oliver. But now there was another variable in the mix, and he couldn’t help but feel an intense frustration with his Father regarding his manipulation of Oliver’s time. Mainly, that he had little ability to talk with, or even see, Felicity.

And his desire to see her grew more intense with each passing moment.

Unsurprisingly, when he told Felicity he doubted he’d get to see her until school due to this, she had taken matters into her own hand and had sent him something called a cell phone. Specifically, a _flip_ phone. Whatever that meant. All he knew was that it was some kind of muggle technology that was similar to sending letters by owl except… not at all. She sent it to him two days ago, along with directions (that he, in his prideful assurance of his own wit, threw away and later regretted after staying up till nearly three in the morning trying to get the damn thing to turn on), but he still had no clue what he was doing. The device was minuscule in his giant hand, and the tiny keys that she instructed were for “texting” and “phone calls” were a source of great frustration to him when he curiously played with it. After exchanging several letters back and forth and Felicity sending him a nearly identical set of instructions (he had a feeling she had written two out just in case), she told him that she would call him later that night and to keep it on him around between eight and nine in the evening.

Thankfully, the Queen family was so abhorrently against all things muggle that they never considered that one of their children might actually bring such a thing into the house, so there were no wards that disrupted its presence. While he didn’t see the usefulness of this muggle technology so far, if it meant he got to hear her voice again, well… he was more than willing to at least give it a try.

“Oliver?”

Thea’s voice echoed through the empty spaces of his training room. Looking up, he saw the slim figure of his sister walking with trepidation down the stairwell, uncertainty etched on her face as she surveyed the room.

He could see her nose wrinkling in disgust on the last step.

“It smells like I just walked into a pile of dirty laundry down here. Seriously, Oliver, ever heard of Freshening charms?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Ugh, of course not. Men,” She muttered, narrowing her eyes towards the bricks that were lying broken in an ashen heap on the floor. “Yeesh. What, did they look at you funny?”

He grinned, taking another sip from his water bottle before responding.

“Just practicing what I’m gonna do to Roy if I ever see him touch you again.”

At this, Thea rolled her eyes, arms crossing. “Yeah? You know, you don’t have to be such a dick to him. He’s a good guy.”

“Good men keep their hands to themselves.”

“Should I ask Felicity if you’re a good man, then?” She retorted wickedly. His jaw twitched, muscles stiffening. How the hell did his sister know her name?

“How do you--” He began to ask, but she waved her hand to stop him.

“Seriously, Ollie, do you even have to ask? I’m not stupid. You’ve gotten more letters in the past two weeks than you have all year and you’ve been completely hogging Speedy. I can’t even owl my friends because you always have her! Plus, you’re always in a good mood, which is… weird, even though Dad is literally like, imprisoning you from society with all these stupid… whatever it is you’re doing.” She motioned towards the training equipment.

“That still doesn’t explain--”

“--And,” she spoke above him, leaning forward on her toes, “I’ve got a pretty damn good network of connections going on at school. Did you _reeeeeeeally_ think you were gonna keep her a secret from me?”

She ends with a smug grin and he is almost willing to bet money that she is thinking something along the lines of _nanny-nanny-boo-boo_ when his face falls slack. He wants to reprimand her, tell her to stay out of his business, but what good would that do? She would have found out regardless. The real question was, who under this roof knew?

As if reading his mind, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw his sister staring down at him, eyes full of sympathy and understanding.

“Hey, don’t get all broody on me,” she said, “I didn’t tell mom or dad. I know how they can be…”

He heard what she wasn’t saying. _I know what they did about Laurel._

Oliver felt a sudden density on him, weighing more than any number of cinder blocks could, but he managed a nod nonetheless.

“Anyway,” Thea said, “I didn’t subject myself to this cold, smelly dungeon just to pick on you, y’know.”

Curiosity replaced burden as he raised both eyebrows at her.

“You have a visitor. She’s upstairs waiting for you.”

At first, the image of Felicity flashed through his mind, and a tinge of hope beyond hope that maybe it was her just a level above him made his heart skip, but reality claimed that thought quickly. Thea would be much more unbearable if that were the case, and Felicity, as daring as he figured she was, probably wouldn’t appear on his doorstep without saying anything.

Which left only a few other females that knew the Queen Manor’s location.

“Is it--” He began, dreading to ask, but Thea immediately shook her head.

“No, it’s not Laurel. You really think she’d step foot in this place?”

This was true. If the Queen mansion was the last area of refuge during the apocalypse, Laurel would sooner find a way to fly to space. Relief unknotted his stomach, then, confusion.

“Then who?”

Thea smirked. “Oh, it’s still a Lance. Think lots of leather.”

 

* * *

 

  
Leather.

Sara Lance.

He steeled himself at the sight of her standing in their large, over-decorated living room, her hands stuffed inside her leather jacket pockets as she rolled back and forth from her toes to the heels of her boots. She looked horribly out of place, clashing with the vintage, bright feel of the room. All of the colors surrounding them made her appear black and white, as though she were a portrait visiting another in a different time.

A million questions ran through his head. Why was she here, and _how_? He was fairly certain there was some kind of Lance family lock on all floo networking to his house. Last time he spoke to her was through owl, asking questions about Felicity, since he knew they were close. Sara hadn’t been in his house for over a year, and made it quite clear that she never wanted to again, so why?

His mind halted when she turned her head towards him upon hearing his approach, a wide, fiendish smile across her lips at the sight of him.

“Do you always greet your female friends half-naked, or am I just a special cupcake?”

He stared hard at her, ignoring the jab. He hadn’t had the chance to grab a shirt before seeing her, and he didn’t really care about it, either.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, not meaning for his voice to sound so unwelcome.

“Gee, no, _‘Hey Sara, how you been_ ’? Manners, Ollie. Your mother would be _appalled_.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “My mother would be _appalled_ from you being in her house.”

Sara puffed out her lower lip, nodding in agreement. “This is true. Still, a hello wouldn’t kill you, would it? Or is our friendship reserved just for school?”

Oliver sighed, feeling guilty. He was being an ass about her being here. Even after everything that happened between them, they were friends, in a weird way. As were a lot of things in his life, it was complicated.

“Sorry," He shook his head. “Guess the adrenaline is still pumping from my work-out.”

“Yeah?” Sara turned completely towards him, cocking her head to the side. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your magical studies, rather than your…” she took a step forward, her eyes passing over his body, “ _physical_ ones?”

Alarms went off, and immediately he was on edge, narrowing his eyes towards the smirk on her face. Sara specialized in flirting, this he knew. Once upon a time, this would have enticed him, as it did many times before in the dark corners of their common room, an attraction that destroyed much. But the flashing face of the girl with watermelon earrings pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in his mind made him find her flirtations irritably wasteful. Not only that, but Laurel… No, he would not allow it, even in jest.

Oliver took a step back, glowering.

“Why are you here?” He asked coldly. “My parents will not react kindly if they see you.” It was not an idle threat, yet Sara only rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, Ollie? You think I came all this way and put my ass on the line for no reason? By the way, you should know by now that _that_ ,” She used her finger and made tiny circled, pointedly at his crotch area, “is not my thing right now. So, chill.” The glint in her eyes was beyond mischievous, but it always was with Sara.

He looked away from her, expressionless as he leaned against the wall next to him, arms folding.

“Fine with me. I have other interests.”

“Mmm, ‘bout that,” Sara hummed, busying herself by looking at a moving doe in one of the portraits on the wall, face and tone neutral as she spoke.

“You need to break up with her.”

His eyes shot up at her, eyebrows knitted together, heart jumping to his throat. Did he just hear her correctly?

“I’m sorry?”

“Do I really need to repeat myself, Ollie?”

His entire being fell. The way she was talking so nonchalantly… He knew Sara and Felicity were close. Had she told her something to make her say this? They had only gone on one date, for Merlin’s sake! Did he really fuck it up that badly that Sara needed to come to his house to tell him to break up with her? He had just heard from her this morning through the post, what the fuck could have happened between then and now? His jaw tightened, anxiety filling him.

“Why would I break up with her?” He asked tersely. He needed to know where this was coming from.

“I don’t want to fight…” Sara sighed, running a hand through her hair, continuing to avoid his gaze. For the first time since she arrived, Oliver could hear an uncertainty in her voice, like she was holding back. This made him nervous, fingers twitching.

“You’re bold enough to walk into a den of vipers, but you give nothing as to why?” He inquired angrily.

When she still did not respond, Oliver closed a fair amount of space between them by stepping forward, repeating himself, sounding harsher than before. “Sara. What is _wrong_?”

“ _You,_ ” She finally spat out, whipping her body around to face him, eyes ablaze. “You, Ollie. You and Felicity. Together. It needs to end. This needs to end.”

“And why the fuck would that happen?” Oliver asked, flabbergasted by her shift in mood. She became very serious, very quickly, and he could feel her magic resonate in the room, her hands balling into fists as she stared hard at him, all former resistance gone now that the subject was out in the open.

“Because she’s my _fucking friend_ ,” Sara hissed, “and I swear to God and every deity out there, Oliver, if you’re fucking with her just for shits and giggles--”

Understanding was beginning to dawn on him. This was not because he had fucked up with Felicity, but rather because he hadn't.

“--Sara, I’m not--” He tried to interrupt, tried to reassure her, but she spoke over him.

“No, Ollie, I’m being very _fucking serious_ right now. I care about Felicity. A lot. This whole thing with you--she tells me everything, do you get it? Every detail, every moment, because she cares and she likes you, Oliver. Genuinely likes you. And you know what? That’s her choice and I respect it and I’ve supported it because fuck it, I’m not exactly the best person to be shelving out relationship advice. But if you don’t feel the same, then you better leave this be because I know where you fucking sleep.”

“Sara…” Oliver felt lost on how to deal with this. He searched her face which was screwed up in frustration. He knew where this was stemming from, though neither of them said it. Half of him wanting to dwell on the _she likes you, genuinely likes you part,_ imagining what she must of told Sara for her to feel the need to come here to tell him this. But another part of him felt insulted by her insinuations of his intent so quickly.

“We went on one date, Sara,” He said calmly. “That’s all. We haven’t even gotten near serious yet, and I have no desire to hit it and quit it next time I see her. I have too much respect for her to do something like that.”

“Oh, you better fucking not if you treasure your family jewels,” Sara grumbled under her breath, scowling at him. “I don’t care if it’s just one date. You’re Oliver Fucking Queen. How long did it take with Laurel? Do you remember? Because _I. Do._ ”

The last bit came out like venom, and it took everything within Oliver not to wince at her words. Instead, he lashed back.

“Then why didn’t you fucking say something to begin with, instead of feeding into it, giving me info about her, telling Tommy and whoever else about our date, all of that shit, if you seriously thought I was going to just fuck it all up?”  
Sara’s face went red with anger as she nearly shouted her response.

“Because after a day with you, I didn’t expect her to actually fucking _like_ you!”

Silence fell between them as they held each others gaze, unwavering. Again, he was at loss for words. What she said had hurt, but it didn’t surprise him in the least that she said it. Sara had seen the uglier parts of him, and she had clearly hoped that Felicity might see it too and turn away, but that had, clearly, backfired. Now Sara was frightened for her friend because of him, because of the dark cloud that followed him. The one that engulfed everyone in his path. But…

 _It’s not the same. I won’t let it be the same,_ he thought.

“I can’t make you any of the promises you want to hear.”

His voice was low, almost a whisper, an _apology_. At first she made a face of disgust, huffing, but then, after a moment, her expression changed into something sad, as if realizing the reality of the situation. Oliver understood her fear. The last person to get close to him like this was Laurel, and what happened…

Sara’s shoulders slumped, her previously fisted hands relaxing, eyes dropping towards the wooden floor beneath them.

“Her parents are muggles.” She said quietly.

“I know,” he replied.

“Do you?”

Oliver sighed heavily.

“I don’t care about it, about blood. I never have.”

“They do.”

“So fucking what,” he said, throwing his hands in the air to refrain from punching something, the very thought of anyone thinking of Felicity less because of her lineage making his blood boil. “Let them say what they want. What do I care?"

Sara gave a wry laugh. “That's the problem, you should care because your parents are assholes, Ollie. They will do whatever they want. Anyone who disagrees suffers. I know that, you know that, so let's just... not, alright?"

He frowned. He wanted to fight back, to defend himself and his family somehow, but Sara had every reason in the world to him and them. He still didn't know how somehow, they had remained friends. Maybe it was the darker parts of them that resonated so well. Yet they both knew that their relationship was a strained thread, waiting to snap at any given moment.

Sara looked up at him hesitantly.

“She’s like a sister to me, Ollie.” Her words are so hushed, he probably would have missed it had he not seen her lips move. Exhaling, he softened his expression. He couldn't be mad at her for this, even if he wanted to be. He knew her fears were valid, and that there was still plenty of anger pent up inside her about the past despite her attempts to bottle it. In that way, they were similar.

“I’m not out to hurt her, Sara,” said Oliver. “She’s different. She’s… I don’t know. Brighter.”

Sara laughed, genuinely this time.

“Yeah, it drives me fucking insane sometimes, to be honest.”

“I like it just fine,” he said with a small smile. She returned it in earnest, stuffing her palms back in her front pants pocket.

“Good,” she said. “You’re… you're not a complete dick, Ollie. You're a good man. I don’t know how, living in this shithole,” she surveyed the room in distaste, “maybe... maybe Felicity can harness that light, yeah? Just promise me one thing.”

He regarded her carefully for a moment before responding. “If I can, I will.”

She nodded, understanding.

“Just… if at any point in time, this starts to go sour, or you decide because I don’t know, you’re a fucking idiot, that you’re not interested anymore, don’t lead her on. Don’t put her through that shit, alright?”

He paused, staring at her. He could see the fire in her eyes, despite her even tone. The request was not an unmanageable one, and in all honesty, he didn’t see himself not liking Felicity any time soon.

“I will,” he promised, and meant it. Sara bit her lip before nodding again, more reassuring herself than him, probably.

“Yeah... yeah. I… can see that you like her a lot. Heh, pretty sure if she were here right now, this,” she motioned towards his topless attire, “would send her into a babbling overdrive. I’m half-tempted to mention it to her, but I’m sure she’ll find out on her own how much you detest clothing.”

“I don’t _detest clothing_ …” He grumbled.

“Right,” Sara grinned. “I’ll remind you of that next time you strip off your shirt for absolutely no reason. Though, I doubt Felicity will have any qualms about it.”

They both shared a small laugh at that, and for the briefest flicker, their friendship went back to normal.

Yet, both of them knew that dark cloud would never fully dissipate.

“Psst,” whispered a voice from around the corner to the hall leading to the entryway of the mansion. They both looked to see Thea peering in.

“Sorry to interrupt, Ollie, but I just heard mom coming in from the Floo room.”

“That’s my cue,” Sara joked. “Mind if I use your fireplace again, Thea?” Oliver raised his eyebrow. So that’s how she got in.

His sister shook her head. “Yeah, that’s fine. Come on, before she knows you’re here.”

Sara gave Oliver one last smile, removing her hand from her pocket to send him a small wave.

“See ya at school, Ollie. I’ll be watching,” she warned humorously, though he knew for a fact that she was definitely not kidding.

“Bye, Sara,” he said. He was about to turn away when he heard Sara call his name.

“Ollie?”

His eyes raced back up to meet hers, a seriousness on her face.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s not tell Felicity about this, alright?”

He hesitated to respond for a moment. While he had no desire to tell her about Sara stomping up to his home demanding she break up with him for reasons he had not even discussed with Felicity yet ( _would he ever?_ that was a question he didn’t want to think about right now), it felt oddly wrong agreeing not to. Shouldn’t Felicity know? Shouldn’t she know everything, if he was seriously going to pursue this?

He pushed it back, locking the idea away temporarily. He felt too strained, both mentally and physically, to deal with that mountain right now.

“Yeah,” he muttered, and she gave him an appreciative look before disappearing, following Thea hurriedly up the steps to the bedrooms above.

When he knew the vicinity was completely empty, he let out a breath, feeling as though he had been holding it in for the entirety of their conversation. Rubbing his face with both hands, he sighed. This really wasn’t what he was expecting to talk about, and so soon. He assumed that Sara approved of this, and now… at the very least, she had enough faith left over in him to give him a chance to prove himself to have learned, to have grown from the past.

She was wrong about one thing, however.

He wasn’t a good man.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Oliver paced his room anxiously, trying not to look at the device on his bed that was currently mocking his intelligence and patience with every minute.

That _fucking_ phone would be the end of him.

It was 9:15 p.m., and Felicity hadn’t “called” him yet. Or, if she did, he had no clue how he would know. She’d sent him owl specifically saying that it would play some sort of song and that, when it did, all he had to do was open it up and hit the button with the strange, green looking banana symbol on it. Yet no song had played, and honestly, he was about to just pull out his wand and make it do something. The only thing that stopped him from doing that was her warning not to try and put a charm or spell on it because she had already done so. Her owl had also said that she never tried anything like this before, so it might not work. He really, really didn’t know if he could handle it not working. Not when he had been looking forward to hearing her voice all day, which had, unsurprisingly, gotten shittier.

After his conversation with Sara, everything went steadily downhill. His father had called him up shortly afterwards, demanding that he get cleaned up so that he could go with Mr. Wilson to meet with a supposed client down at Knockturn Alley. Oliver was to shadow him, watch and learn as the wizard put the fear of God into the tiny, mouse-like man in his shop. Oliver wasn’t entirely sure what the shopkeeper had done to anger his father, but it did not go unnoticed that he had a thick, Russian accent. At the end of it, they got what they came for, a small lock box hidden underneath a floorboard, though Oliver did not know what was inside of it.

 _“You don’t need to know the details, kid. Keep your mouth shut and do what you're told.”_ Slade had told him when he questioned what it was. With pursed lips, Oliver let it go after that. There was little use in trying to get a man like Slade Wilson to tell him anything his father didn’t want him to know.

Immediately after that, Oliver and Slade enjoyed a two hour long session of _who can hex who faster?_ in training. Had it not been for Raisa’s exemplementry healing ability, Oliver would be in bed, still soaking up the blood pouring from his nose and the gash in his side from a spell that he had failed to deflect. Instead, there was only a small bandage. He did manage to get two nice shots at Slade, however, pulling off a spell that bound both his feet to the floor like cement, preventing him from apparating or moving. Nonetheless, Slade Wilson had been in the field a lot longer than Oliver, and had worked around it. Once that was finished, Oliver felt thoroughly exhausted, to the point where he had made himself a pot of coffee just to keep his eyes open past eight’o’clock in anticipation for Felicity’s call. The only thing keeping him awake now was two cups of caffeine and the restlessness from waiting almost an hour and a half for this damn phone to do something.

 _Fuck_. He really was about to throw the thing against the wall soon if it didn’t stop mocking him.

“Come on,” he said, stopping in his walking around his room to glare at it, as though it knew exactly what it was doing.  
“Just give me this. Alright? This one thing. Please.”  
Was he really haggling with an inanimate object? Merlin, he was either really fucking tired or losing his mind. Or both. Tommy would have a field day if he knew.

And yet, somehow, it heard his plea. His request was answered as, to his utter surprise, the phone began to buzz, moving itself around on his sheet, a song beginning to play.

_Oh, oh, it’s magic, you know…_

Oliver nearly jumped out of its skin, the volume of the phone filling his room as he practically leaped forward to grab it, the object vibrating in his hand.

_...Never believe, it’s not so…_

He quickly flipped it open. “Felicity?” He called to her, but the song only continued, starting to loop the same lines over and over. On the small screen, her name popped up. 

_Felicity is calling you._

“Felicity? Felicity, are you there? Why does it keep playing this song?!”

Panicking a bit, worried that he’d done something wrong, he hastily searched through the mess on his desk searching for the instructions she had sent him earlier. When he found it, his eyes scanned through it rapidly. What was he forgetting? Why wasn’t she answering?

_...Oh, oh, it’s magic, you know..._

  
_Oh._ The green button. Fuck. He forgot to press it.

. _..Never believe, it’s not so..._

His thumb nearly encompassing all of the buttons on the phone, he delicately pressed down on the corner of the button and, mercifully, the song ended.

“Thank fucking Merlin,” he muttered to himself as silence returned to his room.

“Oliver?” a small voice echoed, coming from the device. His ears perked up, heart thumping wildly. That voice. It was her. It was Felicity. _He could hear Felicity._

Thrill surging through him, he nearly dropped the phone on the ground.

“Felicity?” He responded loudly, unsure, talking to the device that was now laying in the palm of his hand.

“Oliver? Are you there?” She asked. Her voice sounded so soft, he could hardly hear her.

“Yeah, I’m right here,” He said quickly, “I think I’m doing this right. I don’t know. Can you hear me?”

“Yes but, it’s really distant. Like you’re far away…” A pause came, and he almost thought she was gone, but then she spoke again. “Oliver, are you holding the phone to your ear?”

“No,” he said flatly, feeling dumb.

“Okay. You see on the phone how the screen is on the top, and on the very bottom there’s a bunch of teeny-tiny little holes?”

His eyes searched rapidly and found what she was referring to. He nodded despite her not being able to see him. “Yeah, I see it.”

"Good! Okay, what you need to do is, you need to put the part where the little holes are to your mouth so I can hear you…” He raised an eyebrow, confused but obliged anyway, bringing the bottom of the phone close to his mouth, barely touching his lips.  
“Like this?” He said. To his dismay, he could hear Felicity squeak, then wince.

“ _Owww,_ my ear--ugh, no, well--yes, but, it’s too close to your mouth, and you need to put the screen part of the phone kinda on your cheek. Like. There’s a little hole on the top of your phone, that’s where you can hear me, and then you can speak to me through the bottom part. So just kind of hold the phone to your ear and mouth at the same time.”

Oliver sighed, he felt like a fucking child, struggling so much with this damn muggle technology. It was worth it, though, just to speak with her. Unsure, he moved the phone how she instructed.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he grumbled in frustration.

“Oh! No, there! You did it. You’re doing it right! I can hear you perfectly now!” She exclaimed happily. To his amazement, he, too, could hear her just as well, as though she were right next to him speaking. It was… strange. He was so busy trying to do everything right, his had not noticed his hands were shaking. Now that he could hear her clearly, though, all of his nervousness faded away into excitement, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

There was a beat of silence from both of them, processing the moment, before Oliver spoke up.

“Hi,” he said, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face.

“Hi,” she responded, sounding slightly breathless. “I--uhm, I’m really glad this worked. I was kind of worried there for a second when you didn’t pick up straight away. I thought maybe my spell went wrong and the phone blew up or something.”

He laughed. “No explosions today. I’m all in one piece.”

“Thank God,” she said, “‘cause I would _not_ do well in Wizard prison. Or muggle prison for that matter. Actually, how about we just say no prisons, of any type, ever.”

“Funny, considering your hobbies.” He teased. He could practically see her face now, making an offended expression.

“Excuse me, Mr. Queen, but this conversation is the result of said hobbies,” she retorted. Merlin, she didn’t miss a beat, did she?

“Maybe we should stop, then? Wouldn’t want you to get set to Azkaban.” She could probably charm her way from a Dementor in a second, he thought. He heard her shudder on the other line.

“No thanks. I’d rather fight The Powers That Be from the comfort of my cozy bed.”

He felt his body twitch involuntarily at the thought of her right now, underneath the covers of her bed, hair let loose, wearing Merlin-knows-what. He bit his lip, trying to keep his mind from wandering.

“Is that where you are right now?” He asked, despite his better judgment.

“Yeah. Thank God for bedrooms because I can’t get privacy anywhere else in this house,” Felicity muttered. “My moms kinda… well, she’s just my mom.”

He had a strong feeling nosey was the word she was looking for, but kept it to himself.

“I know how that is,” Oliver said, taking a seat on his bed, keeping the phone carefully glued to his ear, uncertain of what might happen if he moved it away, “my family isn’t exactly privy to privacy. They’d be pissed if they saw me with anything muggle under their roof.”

“Let me guess,” she began, “your parents are all uptight, pure-bloody and get all _grawr-rawr-rawr_ at anything muggle because muggles drool and wizards rule?” She giggled.

His expression darkened, despite himself. He knew she being humorous, nonetheless her words left a sour taste in his mouth. She must have picked up on it by his lack of laughter, because immediately she followed up with,

“I’m kidding, by the way. You know. Joke. Joking. Because your parents probably aren’t…aren’t...” A large inhale and exhale. “Oh, God. They are, aren’t they? That’s why you’re being all quiet right now. Because they are totally, totally uptight and pure-bloody, which means you are probably going to get in huge trouble because of me and ohh no, what if they take your wand away? What if the magical law people come? What if they ban you from going to Hogwarts? What if they ban me from going to Hogwarts!? What if--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down,” Oliver said, attempting to stop the rapid succession of which her fears were beginning to pour out of her mouth.

“Sorry,” Felicity groaned. “My mouth goes faster than my brain sometimes and it’s like, BAM, anxiety! Which is really, really not fun, because I start thinking about all these different things like your parents hating me which, have I mentioned that I'm really bad at the whole meeting the parents talk?--”

“Hey, hey-- _Fe-li-ci-ty_ ,” he said, emphasizing her name, causing her to go silent. “Slow down. Really, it’s fine. It’s okay. My parents aren’t going to hate you. They aren’t even going to know I have this phone.”

“Are you sure?” She stammered, “I don’t want to do this if--”

“No,” He pressed, “they have no idea about this. You don’t have to worry. I’m alone in my room with a silencing charm, so even if they pass by the door, they will think I’m sleeping.”

“A silencing charm?” Felicity repeated, sounding impressed. “That’s pretty difficult to do on such a big space.”

He smirked, feeling pleased by her compliment. “Is it? It’s worth mastering. I find that it’s useful for… private activities.” He was going to add such as this, but he couldn’t help himself and refrained--the abrupt quiet on the other end of the line told him his implications were fairly clear.

“I just insulted your family and completely embarrassed myself,” she murmured, “and you’re _still_ flirting with me.”

He chuckled. “Should I stop?”

“Absolutely not,” Felicity said quickly, then stuttered. “I-I mean. Ugh, God, I swear I don’t mean to sound like I’ve never been flirted with before.”

A tinge of anger rippled through his being at the mere thought of another man trying to be cozy with her, but he shook it away from his mind.

“I like making you flustered,” he smirked.

“Do you also like it when my face is beet-red? Because I’m 98% sure that’s what is happening right now.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Only 98%?”

“I don’t have a mirror and I hate odd numbers, so, yeah, 98%.”

“You hate…” Oliver repeated, confused at first but then it came to him and he began to laugh, genuinely laugh from his gut. What a small, trivial fact about her, and yet it somehow only added to her charm.

“You are truly something else.”

“Thank you, Mr. Queen,” she whispered into the receiver, much too smoothly. He felt a shiver run down from the lobe of his ear to his spine. He gulped, hard. Why did she have to keep calling him that? And in that voice?

“If you’d like, I could tell you more interesting things about me.” She said before he had a chance to respond, using the exact same tone.

Merlin’s.

_Fucking._

Beard.

She certainly knew how to fight fire with fire.

How, exactly, did they get to this point so _quickly_?

Oliver sucked in a breath, his pajama pants suddenly tighter than before. What the fuck do I even say to that? He thought. He doubted she meant to sound so… sexy. But she did, and he swore the room had gotten ten degrees hotter.

But he was a Slytherin. He wasn’t about to be outdone by a Ravenclaw.

“Mmm,” he hummed, “I think I’d like to know many things about you, Ms. Smoak.”

The lowering of his voice was deliberate, and the nervous giggle that followed after a beat of silence was extremely satisfying.

“M-maybe,” she stuttered, nonplussed. “Keep talking to me like that and we might have to go back to owls. NOT that you talking like that is doing anything to me because it is not doing anything.”

His lips twisted into a prideful grin. She really loved to dig herself into a hole, and he was happy enough to help himself right into it with her.

“I like your voice, and hearing it. This is… nice. Perhaps muggles have something going for them after all.” Oliver had personally never had an issue with non-magic folk, though he found their lives to be rather mundane. However, if they could invent something like that without magic…

“You have no idea,” she sighed, “the Wizarding World could learn so much from muggles if they just opened their eyes and weren’t so… uppity. No offense.”

He shook his head to himself. “None taken. I have no opinion on it, really. As far as I’m concerned, anyone who can create a way for me to talk to you like this has my thanks.”

She laughed, and he refrained from pointing out that he was especially happy that he could hear that.

“Smooth-talker,” she said between giggles before adding, “I like your voice, too. It’s… nice to hear again. Although you sound kinda different over the phone.”

“Do I?” He inquired, intrigued.

“Yeah, you sound more.. uhm, _grrawr_.”

Her attempt at a low growl sounded more like a tiny dragon trying to roar for the first time, and Oliver could not hold back a laugh at it. Shit, she was so damn cute.

“Sorry, I’ll try to sound less like… that.”

“No!” She spoke quickly, “No! It’s okay. It’s uhm. I... I kinda like it.”

His face flushed, body twitching again at her words. He hadn’t meant to sound like that, though he had been told that he could sound a little scary when he flirted. He wondered what her reaction would be if he showed her just how growly he could be. Most girls had found it a turn off, and the fact that she seemed to like it lit a fire under his skin.

“I’ll have to remember that for later,” he mused.

“You really shouldn’t, because I think I’m getting a suntan from how hard I’m blushing right now.”

“I’d love to see that.”

“Of course you would, because you’re an evil, _evil_ Slytherin.”

“An evil, evil Slytherin making you blush late at night in your bed."

“Oliver!” She squeaked and he chuckled.

“What?” He feigned innocence.

“Ugh. See? _E-v-i-l_.”

Within seconds, they were both laughing loudly into their respective phones before they both went quiet. He heard shifted noises in the background and, what sounded like a deep sigh.

“Hey, uhm, I know this sounds weird, but…” Felicity faltered for a moment, speaking softly. “I… miss you.”

Her words were barely audible, yet they had a weight that knocked the air out of him. He sucked in both lips, heart pounding loudly in his chest, questioning if he heard correctly. Everything around him felt fuzzy suddenly, and he didn’t realize he’d left her hanging with nothing but silence until she spoke again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said--” The disappointment evident in her voice caused him to catapult up into a sitting position on his bed.

“I miss you too,” he blurted out.

“O-oh,” Felicity stuttered. “I… that’s… that’s good. I’m not a freak then. Great. Go me.” She cleared her throat. “So, uhm… how long do you have to talk?”

He doesn’t even hesitate to answer, the smile on his face stretching uncomfortably.

“All night.”

She laughs, and he bites his lower lip, the fluttering in his stomach unbearable. He sank back into his bed.

“Good, ‘cause I did a pretty mean work up on your phone so that battery will last awhile.”

“Battery?” Oliver asked, perplexed, which emitted another giggle from her lips.

“I really need to educate you on muggle stuff… Like texting. That's next on the list of things to learn.”

“Well,” he smiled, “we have plenty of time.”

“Oh, I can go all night,” she said with pure innocence. Oliver’s eyebrows jumped up as he heard her gasp. “I mean, talking. I can go all night talking. That’s what I meant. Not anything else. Talking. Just--just talking. Frack, I always do this…”

To his surprise, her words were not without truth as they did, indeed, talk well into the night.

By his own request, she told him more about the muggle world, about moving portraits that played entire stories for sometimes three hours. Movies, he remembered her calling them. About music that could be listened to through these two things called headphones that were sort of like earmuffs but smaller. That discussion had led to a deeper conversation about how the muggles and wizards had still lived incredibly separate existences, despite all they could learn from either.

“I swear, Wizards live in the Dark Ages. If they would only just be open to what the outside world has to offer…” Felicity had said with a sigh, and he had a strong feeling that one day, she might be the one to bring about that.

Overall, she spoke far more than he did, but he hardly minded. He liked listening to her voice and the way she described things in such detail and length, as though trying to paint a picture for him. Of course, he wasn’t without his own tales, sharing with her some of the interesting situations Tommy and him had gotten in outside of Hogwarts. It was… different. For a few hours it was as if everything waiting for him outside his bedroom door had faded away. He indulged in telling her about happier moments, times where he didn’t feel so trapped.

It took a concentrated effort not to tell her that as they spoke easily, as if they had known each other a lifetime. He had almost forgotten what it was like to feel this way, utterly content. The storm of expectancies that hovered above his head drowned out so much, often leaving him feeling nothing but anger, numbness… yet here she was, this girl he barely knew, making him laugh and smile as though what waited him tomorrow didn’t exist.

He never wanted it to end.

Sadly, it did. Sometime around 12 a.m., Felicity began to doze off mid-sentences. It had scared him at first, when she finally fell completely silent in the middle of telling him about the time she accidentally turned another student's hair into bird feathers during class, wondering if maybe the magic on the phone was wearing off somehow. But her steady breathing on the other line transcribed that she had merely fallen asleep. Shamelessly, he listened for another full fifteen minutes before whispering, “Goodnight, Felicity,” and closing the top to the phone.

The emptiness that filled him as it clicked shut made him feel ill, placing the closed phone underneath his sleeping pillow. He thought back to earlier that day, the argument with Sara…

He didn’t know if he could protect Felicity, and a small voice in the back of his mind warned he might be treading dangerous waters, but he knew that was a lie. The truth was much more simple: He was already in too deep. Damned as he was, her pull on him felt oddly inevitable, and the idea of pushing her away now…

Oliver rolled over in his bed, shutting his eyes tightly. He knew he couldn’t keep everything from her forever, but she didn’t need to know now, did she? He didn’t want to think about it, or Sara, or any of it. Instead, he repeated Felicity’s many tales in his head, stitching it into his memories as best he could. He didn’t want to forget a word. 

So consumed in his thoughts of her throughout the night, Oliver did not once take notice that the Silencing Charm he had cast long ago had been dispelled shortly after Felicity called him. Nor did he question the echo of footsteps walking away from the front of his bedroom door as a small, green wisp floated around him, his eyelids suddenly felt too heavy to lift, his senses dimming as he succumbed into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks head around the corner*
> 
> Uhhh... hi.
> 
> I'm not dead, promise.
> 
> Sorry this update took so long (like, a MONTH long). I re-wrote it several times because I just... didn't like how it turned out. To be honest, I'm still a little iffy about it, but I hope you guys like it nonetheless. Also, these chapters are a beast to edit, so there's that. Literally I've been editing it for three days now. Three. Days. 
> 
> I have to admit, this chapter was hard to write because in the NEXT chapter, a lot more exciting things happen. I'll probably update sooner because, YAY HOGWARTS IS FINALLY COMING. Some stuff is going to go down between Oliver and his father in the upcoming chapter, and then after that we will begin the voyage to Hogwarts and get to meet a lot of interesting characters. I can't wait to introduce Gryffindor!Diggle. I've got a seriously great introduction for him I'm dying to write. :)
> 
> Also, we get a little insight to Sara. She's a firecracker, isn't she? I know I'm building up a lot of suspense with the whole Laurel/Oliver thing, and I hope I can do it justice. Basically, bad things happened, and as a result, Oliver hasn't really forgiven himself for it yet. But, that will come with time. :)
> 
> So, dear readers, tell me what you think! Leave a comment or a kudos! I'd love to know what you thought about this chapter and what you're hoping to find out coming up. Let me know if you liked it/didn't like it. (Also, sorry for the super-cussy Oliver. I just always thought to myself that he cusses a lot in his head, even if he doesn't say it out loud. Just my head canon, personally.) :)
> 
> See you soon, lovelies! As always, my askbox on my tumblr acct potter-lovegood is always open. :)


	7. The Text Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity gets her O.W.L. scores back, and Oliver learns how to text.

_O - Outstanding, E - Exceeds Expectations, A - Acceptable, P - Poor, D - Dreadful, T - Troll_

**Felicity Megan Smoak - Ravenclaw - Fifth Year**

_Charms                                       ~_ Score: **O**

_Defense Against the Dark Arts     ~_ Score: **A**

_Potions                                        ~_ Score: **O**

_Transfiguration                            ~_ Score: **E**

_Astronomy                                   ~_ Score: **P**

_Herbology                                    ~_ Score: **A**

_Arithmancy                                  ~_ Score: **O**

_History of Magic                           ~_ Score: **A**

_Magical Theory                             ~_ Score: **O**

 

Ms. Smoak peeked over the scroll of parchment she was reading closely to her face, regarding her daughter warily.

“So… these are your test scores…”

“Yep,” Felicity responded, popping the ‘p’ and not meeting her mother's gaze, eyes settled on the empty table in front of her.

“And everything you got an O, E or A on, is like, a really good score, right?”

“Yep,” her daughter repeated in the same fashion, sinking further into the dining room chair.

“Felicity… this is--this is--” Her mother struggled with words, biting her lip, until suddenly, she burst into praise, reaching pitches that made the portraits on the wall shake.

“This is AMAZING! Oh! My sweet baby girl I am so proud of you! You’d put Serena the Teenage Witch to SHAME!” She cried out, shifting the table from her abrupt stand as she let the parchment fall to its surface, reaching to envelop her daughter in a tight hug.  
Felicity, cringing, did not return the embrace. Noticing, Donna hung back, lightly gripping her daughter's shoulders, looking concerned. “Honey? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy about this?”

“Mom, I really don’t want to talk about it.” Felicity murmured, avoiding her gaze. Regret began to swell from allowing her mother to see her test results. She should have known better. She should have expected this.

“Felicity, I don’t understand why--”

“Mom,” Felicity insisted. “I just--can we drop it? Please?”

She dared to meet her mother's stare, and it was obvious from the get-go that Donna did not intend on backing down. Felicity breathed steadily, preparing herself for the oncoming fight.

None came.

The fiery, determined look on her mother's face faded into something sad as she released Felicity and gave her a slow, curt nod.

“Alright,” she said softly. “I will let it go.”

Felicity had to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. Her mother letting anything go when it pertained to something being wrong with Felicity simply did not happen. It wasn’t a question. She felt her insides tighten with shame. She didn’t know what was worse, this, or fighting. Felicity almost preferred fighting, the sober expression on Donna’s face making her feel far more guilty than any unkind words could.

“You are the smartest person I know, Felicity. Smarter than me, that’s for certain. Get that from your dad, I think.” Donna spoke with a small, wistful smile. The subject of her dad made Felicity gulp hard, burrowing down her emotions.  
Bending down, Donna placed a chaste kiss on Felicity’s forehead, breath warm against her skin as she lingered. “Remember that I love you, alright? Even if I can’t always understand your world. Don’t get discouraged, sweetie. Give yourself some credit.”

Donna kissed her once more before withdrawing from the kitchen, leaving Felicity alone at the dining room table in silence.

Realizing she was by herself, her eyes fought back mistiness.

_No,_ she thought to herself, sniffling. _You are not going to cry over this, Smoak. You’re overreacting. It’s not even a big deal. It’s just stupid scores. Who cares if you got a P…_

“Astronomy is bullshit anyway,” Felicity muttered under her breath, though she didn’t believe her own words.

Truth be told, she didn’t even know why she was upset. She had anticipated not getting all O’s and E’s, like Sara had said. Yet for some reason, looking at her scores now, she felt furiously disappointed in herself. She was a Ravenclaw, yet looking at her scores made her feel unworthy of the title. Everyone constantly raved about how smart she was, how well she would do, how hard she worked. She knew it was nearly impossible to get a perfect score on everything, so why did she feel so… mad at herself?Felicity kept replaying all of her O.W.L tests in her mind. Each one, wondering what she did wrong, how she could have done better, if she had just flicked her wrist a little bit more, or annunciated her spell clearer, or anything that she could nit-pick to death, no matter how awful it made her feel, she couldn’t control her mind from trying to tear her down.

Maybe she wasn’t as smart as she thought. Maybe for muggles she was a genius, but with magic she was just… _normal._

Was being normal really so bad?

_I’m a horrible person_ , she lamented. _I got good grades and I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself just because I didn’t get perfect scores on everything. Who does that?_ Her inner critic answered her own question. _Me. I do. Because I’m stupid. Very, very, very, very stupid. I don’t even know why I’m in this stupid house..._

She sighed, ready to grab the stupid parchment paper and crumble it out of her orbit when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

_Text Message! Text Message! You’ve got a text message!_ It sang.

“Unless that text message comes with the pint of Mint Chocolate Chip ice-cream, I don’t care,” Felicity muttered, taking the phone out without looking at the screen, silencing it. To her chagrin, however, her phone would not be silenced. Two more came rapidly.

_Text Message! Text Message! You’ve--_

_Text Message! Text Message! You’ve got a text message!_

She swore under her breath. “ _Really?_ ” Annoyed, she rubbed away the minuscule tears from her eyes under her glasses with her free hand, turning the phone over with her other, peering through blurry vision at the offender that rudely interrupted her pity party.

Her glasses were nearly knocked clean off her face when she saw the name.

_Oliver Queen. 3 New Messages._

“What!?”

The phone dinged again.

_Text Message! Text Message! You’ve got a text message!_

_Okay,_ she thought, _is this some kind of joke?_

It had been four nights since their first phone call. Oliver and Felicity had not been able to do it again since then. They had to be careful due to Oliver’s parents, especially his mother who had mysteriously taken to “checking up” on him late at night. While Felicity had talked to him a little about texting from their first phone conversation and the letters they sent back and forth, they never actually did it. Butterflies filled her chest.

She narrowed her eyes at O.W.L test scores, mocking her on the table.

She hoped beyond hope this was not a prank.

With a short breath, Felicity’s thumb swiped.

 

**Oliver Queen [2:32 p.m.]**

_efgeclcty_

**Oliver Queen [2:32 p.m.]**

_eefelicd_

**Oliver Queen [2:32 p.m.]**

_ff_

**Oliver Queen [2:33 p.m.]**

_f_

 

She blinked.

That was… certainly not what she was expected. Her fingers slid across the text pad with haste, heart thrumming in her chest.

**Felicity Smoak [2:34 p.m.]**

_Um… Oliver?_

When he didn’t respond right away, she began to type again but his next message interrupted hers.

**Oliver Queen [2:36 p.m.]**

_felicity_

 

“Oh!” She exclaimed, understanding.“He’s trying to say my name!” A sudden rush of excitement filled her, all sadness evaporating as she quickly responded.

 

**Felicity Smoak [2:37 p.m.]**

_Is this real!?_

_Are you really texting me?_

_Oliver how did you learn how to text?_

 

Her foot tapped nervously as she waited for his reply. She could just see him now, large fingers trampling over the small buttons on his phone, probably cursing at their tiny size with frustration on his face. _Oh, Oliver._

 

**Oliver Queen [2:39 p.m.]**

_books_

**Felicity Smoak [2:39 p.m.]**

_Books? Like… you read how to do it?_

**Oliver Queen [2:41 p.m.]**

_yes_

**Oliver Queen [2:42 p.m.]**

_wanted to surprise you_

 

Felicity’s breath caught in her throat, sucking in her lower lip. The warmness that filled her was beyond anything that she had felt before. If she grinned any harder, her face would fall off. This entire thing threw her for such a loop that she didn’t realize she never responded.

 

**Oliver Queen [2:45 p.m.]**

_is it oj?_

_ok_

**Felicity Smoak [2:46 p.m.]**

_Is it okay?_

_You’re not serious right?_

_Because this is so okay_

_This is better than okay_

_This is like_

_Oliver_

_I can’t stop smiling right now_

**Oliver Queen [2:47 p.m.]**

_good_

 

Oh, Merlin. Somehow, she could hear the satisfying smirk in that text, but she didn’t care. Leaning back in her chair, she hugged her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees, fingers flying over the keypad.

 

**Felicity Smoak [2:48 p.m.]**

_I should mark this in my calendar as, ‘The Day Oliver Queen finally decided to join the world of the living’_

**Oliver Queen [2:50 p.m.]**

_was i dead before?_

**Felicity Smoak [2:50 p.m.]**

_Without the awesomeness that is texting?_

_Yes, sadly. You just didn’t know it yet._

**Oliver Queen [2:51 p.m.]**

_interesting_

**Oliver Queen [2:52 p.m.]**

_i felt alive when we spoke last_

 

Her face flushed a deep red, remembering their conversation over the phone. She had fallen asleep, but the entirety of the next day she was practically on cloud nine. The thought of him feeling the same...

**Felicity Smoak [2:53 p.m.]**

_Me too_

**Oliver Queen [2:54 p.m.]**

_felicity?_

**Felicity Smoak [2:54 p.m.]**

_Yeah?_

**Oliver Queen [2:55 p.m.]**

_the buttons are too small_

 

The laugh that erupted from her mouth filled the room. _Knew it,_ she thought.

 

**Felicity Smoak [2:55 p.m.]**

_That happens when you have ginormo hands._

_Try not to break the phone typing._

_Kidding!_

**Oliver Queen [2:56 p.m.]**

_ha ha very funny_

 

Felicity giggled, resting further back into her chair. She stared at the screen for a moment, still floored by what was happening right now. While she knew wizards who understood muggle technology, they were almost always mixed blood, having some previous muggle history to go off of. A pure-blooded wizard, though… she wondered what it was like for him, all this muggle technology. Especially considering he would have definitely had to go to a muggle library in order to find instructions on how to text.

She smiled. She would have to teach him how to use emoticons next.

Her phone dinged again.

**Oliver Queen [2:56 p.m.]**

_have to go_

**Oliver Queen [2:56 p.m.]**

_call tonight?_

**Felicity Smoak [10:07 p.m.]**

_Yes, please!_

**Oliver Queen [2:56 p.m.]**

_ok_

_goodbye ms smoak_

 

She frowned, disappointed, but it dawned on her that it was the middle of the day. Oliver was probably risking a lot texting her. Dread filled her. She hoped he hadn’t been too careless.

 

**Felicity Smoak [2:55 p.m.]**

_:(_

_Goodbye Mr. Queen_

_Talk to you tonight_

  
Sadness seeped in. Though he hadn’t been there, physically, the lack of his texts made her room feel… emptier. She was about to scroll up and re-read the entire conversation, but another message came, forcing the phone to automatically go to the most recent message.

 

**Oliver Queen [2:56 p.m.]**

_dont miss me too much_

 

“Ass!” She cursed under her breath, but laughed soon after. Damn him. As quickly as he made her blush and her heart flutter, he could ignite a fire in her with his cocky jokes. It infuriated her in some ways, and in other ways, made her weak in the knees. Pridefully, she decided against responding, not giving him the satisfaction.

Yet, truth be told, Felicity _did_ miss him already.

Sighing, she pushed her glasses back up her nose, peering again at her O.W.L. scores, self-esteem threatening to plummet once more. But she built herself up instead, pushing back the anxiety rearing into her gut, choosing to think positively instead. At least now she could register for her N.E.W.T. classes--if they'd accept her. Biting her lip, she reached for the parchment and folded it neatly.  _That is a dilemma for tomorrow,_ she thought to herself. For now, she  _really_  did need some mint chocolate chip ice-cream. 

 

* * *

 

Oliver Queen sat, hunched over a bit, staring at the phone in his hands, the message he sent still brightly on the screen.

 

**Oliver Queen [2:56 p.m.]**

_dont miss me too much_

She hadn’t responded. He smirked, not surprised.

Oliver leaned his head and body back, breathing in the clean, crisp air around him, allowing his nerves to settle. The idea of texting her was not new to him. In fact, he had studied his Texting for Dummies (Merlin, the experience of buying _that_ had been a giant fiasco) ever since their first phone call, waiting for the perfect opportunity to surprise her. He had not planned on doing it now. He wanted to get better at it, perfect it, so that he wouldn’t sound so inept, but...  
Sitting on a tree stump, surrounded by the forest around him, the quiet and stillness of nature, made him miss her somehow. Not that he didn’t miss her outside of that. He did, every single day. It was becoming a problem that he had to combat, especially in the presence of his parents and trainers, who had begun to notice that his mind was elsewhere. He blamed it on being stressed over school starting soon, and the workload that was currently on him, but he knew the truth was simpler.

He wished she was there, so much so that he could not hold back the desire just to communicate with her in somehow. Although the smallness of the phone grated his nerves, and it took him several times just to spell out her name...

The corners of Oliver’s lips twitched up into a grin, remembering the words she wrote.

 

_“I can’t stop smiling right now”_

 

That, in itself, made it all worth it. He didn’t care how stupid he sounded or how terrible he was at it. Shit, he would’ve given his entire broom collection to actually see her smile, but knowing that his surprise had made her so happy was enough.

Plus, he needed something to do, because at this rate, Tommy would never catch up with him.

“Queen!” A voice yelled out, echoing through the trees, the sound of crunching leaves and sticks reaching Oliver’s ears.

_Speak of the devil,_ he thought to himself.

He jammed the phone into his back pocket. Ever since their first phone call, Oliver always had the device with him, outside of magical training hours. Other than that, it was on his person at all times. Something about it reminded him that she was close, a particularly comforting thought considering he barely got to speak with her. He wasn’t worried, he knew how to keep it out of sight, and Felicity wouldn’t call him without asking first.

Now that she knew he was able to text, though…

He tried to suppress his excitement over getting to talk to her whenever.

Using both hands to propel himself off the tree trunk, he stuffed his empty hands into his hoodie, watching as a figure became increasingly visible into view.

Tommy Merlyn ran -- well, more like stumbled awkwardly -- through the forestry, his leg movements akin to heavy stomping, as though he could hardly carry his own weight any farther. When he finally made it to Oliver’s side, he lurched forward, hands on his knees as he attempted to catch his breath.

Oliver only snickered.

“Yeah, okay--laugh it up--” Tommy huffed between breaths. “You know-- _huff_ \--when you-- _ahh_ \--said that you wanted to-- _ugh_ \--hang out today--I didn’t exactly-- _huff_ \--have this in mind,” he motioned around them weakly.

“What? Don’t like nature?” asked Oliver evenly, trying to hide his amusement.

“Nature? Yes. Running? Not so much,” replied Tommy, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, then making an ew noise afterwards.

“The exercise is good for you.”

“Oliver,” Tommy said, glaring up at his friend with all seriousness in his tone, “This is not exercise. This is torture. We’re wizards for Merlin’s sake. We don’t run. We cast spells to make our legs run _for_ us, and then we move on with our lives and do actual important things, like making crazy shit happen, causing mayhem and taking numbers. Which is what we should be doing.”

Oliver crooked an eyebrow at his friend. “Sure, I’ll remind you of that next time you complain your robes don’t fit you anymore.”

“Hey!” Tommy exclaimed, “I’ll have you know I _do_ work out.”

“Lonely nights with your hand don’t count as exercise, Tommy.”

“Oh _har har_ , aren’t you just a bundle of freakin’ giggles…”

“I’m just kidding,” Oliver said, “you do look a bit more toned. You really should work on your endurance, though.”

Straightening, Tommy stretched out his back, letting out a groan of relief as it gave a satisfying crack. “Yeah, yeah. I know. How many miles have we run anyway? Four? Five?”

Oliver’s lips twitched into a small, humored smile.

“One,” he said.

“One!? Are you kidding me?! Merlin’s fucking balls,” Tommy sighed, exasperated. “You’re killing me, Queen.”

“Alright, alright, we’ll head back,” Oliver said, giving in to his friends laments.

“Thank god,” Tommy mumbled. Oliver chuckled.

“Then we can do crazy shit and cause mayhem.”

“Yes! Finally,” his friend pumped his fist. “Crazy shit and mayhem. My specialty. Lunch first? All this running is making me crave one of those dragon burgers from Lilith’s Fire Pit.”

Why am I not surprised? Oliver thought. Lilith’s Fire Pit was, actually, fairly subpar compared to the other places to eat around Diagon Alley, but Tommy liked it because he always got the same, red-haired waitress when they went.

“Sure you’re craving a burger and not the waitress?” He quipped, gaining a sharp look from Tommy. Without waiting for a response, Oliver let out a laugh and then pat his friend hard on the back, nearly causing him to fall over from the impact.

“Kidding. Don’t be so sensitive,” He winked. “See you back at the house, Merlyn. You should definitely try to go faster this time around.” He said with a mock worried expression. “Pretty sure there are coyotes out here, so, you know, try to keep up.”

The resulting horrified look on Tommy’s face was priceless.

With that, he tugged down the beanie atop his head, securing it, before starting his run back to the house, Tommy’s shouts echoing in his wake.

“W-wait, coyotes? You never told me anything about coyotes! Ugh! You are a fucking dick, Queen! NEVER going running with you again!”

 

* * *

 

 

Two things were certain to happen anytime Oliver hung out with Tommy. One, Oliver’s coin purse would always, always be empty by the end of their excursions. Two, without fail, one of them would come home bleeding.

Thankfully, this time, it was not Oliver.

“Tilt your head back, please, Mr. Merlyn,” instructed Raisa. Tommy grumbled under his breath something about not wanting to be called Mr. Merlyn as he shifted uncomfortably on the bar chair in their kitchen. Complying, he lifted up his nose, thick blood pouring out of his nostrils in heavy streams.

Oliver, who was leaning against the kitchen counter across from the two, watched as Raisa lifted her wand to meet Tommy’s nose, a small light radiating heat on the tip of it, her lips speaking soft incantations.

“Owww _,_ ” Tommy groaned.

“Be still, Mr. Merlyn. It will hurt more if you are not.”

“I _am_ being still.”

Raisa exhaled impatiently. “Be _more_ still, then.”

Oliver covered his mouth to hide his snort. Moira Queen, his mother, who had unfortunately witnessed Tommy bleeding all over her throw rug in the entryway, shushed him.

“It’s not funny, Oliver,” said Moira sharply, Oliver sobering quickly under her reprimand. “How did this even happen? Or should I not ask?”

“Well,” Oliver began, “turns out the waitress at Lilith’s Fire Pit doesn’t take kindly to some random guy cornering her, then proceeding to hyperventilate trying to ask her out on a date. She also has a _wicked_ good talent at Blood-Buster hexes.”

“I did _not_ corner her and I was _not_ hyperventilating!” Tommy retorted, moving his head in an attempt to glare at Oliver and, as a result, nearly getting poked in the eye by Raisa’s wand.

“Mr. Merlyn, _please_!”

“Sorry, Raisa…”

Moira Queen, who was standing next to Oliver, crossed her arms, giving a disapproving shake of her head. “You two… I am beginning to think that the saying about boys never truly growing up is true.”

“Good thing you had Thea, then,” Oliver joked, only to be rewarded by another narrow, pointed look from his mother. He cleared his throat apologetically. “Ah-erhm, sorry. If it helps anything, I’ll clean the blood up from the rug myself…”

“There is no need,” Moira said. “I have made it a point to charm most of the rugs in this house to be self-cleaning. A requirement, it turned out to be, as you got older. Though, I had presumed that perhaps you had gotten too old for such… childish activities. I suppose it is good that I kept them.”  
Oliver smiled despite feeling guilty. His first time out with Tommy all summer and this is how he repaid the luxury of his free time…

“I won’t tell your father,” Moira added, now speaking to Tommy.

“Mrs. Queen, you are a golden phoenix of mercy and forgiveness,” His friend declared in response.

“You’re welcome,” His mother responded coolly, though Oliver swore he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips for only a moment. Out of all his friends, Tommy was the one his mother had the softest spot for, having known him practically since birth.

“Ah, yes,” said Raisa, “It is законченный. _Tergeo_.” With a swift movement of her wand, the blood on Tommy’s face suctioned into the tip of the wand like a vacuum, before disappearing completely, leaving his skin clear and clean from any remnants.

Feeling his face with his fingers, a noise of relief escaped him.

“Raisa, you beautiful russian flower, how can I ever repay you?”

The Russian woman giggled. “You should be more careful with your tongue,” she warned, teasingly, “I may be old, but I am no fool when it comes to hexes.”  
Both Oliver and Tommy’s eyebrows shot up at that as they both shared a apprehensive look. Moira, on the other hand, released a genuine chuckle.

“Thank you, Raisa,” she said. “If you don’t mind, would you please escort Tommy to our fireplace upstairs, preferably with a Neutralizing Potion? Just in case his unrequited love left him a bit more than just a bloody nose.”

“It is not unrequited love…” Tommy mumbled, flushing slightly.

“Oh, of course, my dear,” cooed Moira, letting her arms fall, heels clicking as she walked towards Tommy and gave him a soft, encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Still, it is better to be safe than sorry, yes?”

Tommy gave a solemn nod, saying nothing, obviously embarrassed. Oliver hid a snicker, feeling slightly bad for his friend.

As Tommy, Raisa, Oliver and Moira made their way out of the kitchen as a group towards the staircase, Tommy gave Moira a hug and, when he came to Oliver, sized him up with a large grin.

“Welp, it was a grand ol’ time.”

Oliver gave his friend a small smile in return. “As always.”

“Needs less blood, though,” His friend mused, making Oliver laugh.

“Nah, but seriously, man,” Tommy continued, more seriously, putting out his hand. “I’ve missed you. Thanks for making some time to see me. This summer has been pretty sucky without you.”  
Oliver glanced at the hand for a moment, feeling warm from Tommy’s words, though he was certainly not going to express that publicly. Shaking it, he drew his friend in for a quick, one armed hug.

“Me, too,” he responded quietly, for only Tommy to hear. When they pulled apart, Tommy’s smile had grown proportionately larger.

“See you at King’s Cross?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good.”

With that, Raisa and Tommy left up the winding staircase to the second floor, Tommy giving one last wave goodbye to Moira and Oliver before leaving them alone.

An awkward silence filled the room. Oliver did not spend a lot of time with his mother anymore, outside of dinners and cordial family events. He felt as though his mother were an outsider most times, floating around his world but never directly in it. She had not been for quite some time, since he was little.   
“He hasn’t changed at all…” said Moira. “I remember when he was just a boy. When you both were…” She trailed off, closing her eyes.  
Oliver raised an eyebrow at his mother. She sounded… depressed.   
"Well," she sighed, "you're still boys. I think today proved that."  
He chuckled softly. "I promise, no more bloody noses."

"Ah, now, don't go making promises you can't keep, Oliver," his mother prodded, granting him a half-smile. "You will always be my boy, after all, no matter how old you get."

Oliver smiled at that. Though he and his mother had not been as close as they once were, the love was still there. She still cared, always checking up on him when he was at school, and often being the go-between for him and his father if any issues arose or Robert was pushing Oliver too hard in training. He reached for his mothers hand and squeezed it affectionately. "Always," he said warmly.

Her lips twisted into a full smile now, as she squeezed back.

Oliver was about to excuse himself to his bedroom, hoping to get a head start on the Silencing Charm for his bedroom before calling Felicity, when they were both interrupted by a large man wearing stark, black robes, stomping down the opposite staircase. Oliver frowned. That was one of his fathers hired hands, the void of emotion expression a necessity on the resume of any man wanting to be hired by the Queen Family. He silently prayed that the man was coming to get his mother, not him, but that wish crumbled as the man spoke, his voice deadpan.

“Mr. Queen?”

“Yes?” Oliver quelled the desire to groan out loud at his name.  _Fuck._ _  
_

“Your presence has been requested in Mr. Queen’s office upstairs.”

Oliver raised both eyebrows, catching a glance at the time on the clock. It was well past 7:00 p.m. now. His stomach fell. A request from his father this late at night rarely ended with Oliver being able to return to the privacy of his bedroom at any time before 12:00 a.m.

Which really put an obstacle in his plans to call Felicity tonight. Again.

He hid his annoyance under a straight face.

“Of course,” he said. What else would he? Despite his pre-planned phone date, his father did not accept ‘no’ as an answer to any request, particularly when it is aimed towards his son.

"I'll talk to you later," Oliver whispered to his mother, placing  a quick kiss on Moira’s cheek before leaving. She said nothing, but he noticed as she rung her hands together, as though nervous about something, her eyebrows furred. Her mannerisms stayed fresh in his mind the entire way upstairs to his father's office.

His gut screamed that something felt off, but he did his best to ignore it, at least, until the double doors to his father’s office were opened to him, revealing a… strange sight.

Robert Queen, who nearly always spoke to Oliver from his desk, now sat at a small, circular table in the middle of the room that was not there before. On top of it was his father’s wand, a bottle of Fire Whiskey, and two shot glasses, one which had already been filled to the top. Next to him, on the throw rug in front of his personal fire place, was a person. Who, Oliver did not know. They wore black robes, their hands and feet tied into place with a magical bond, face covered by a hood that overtook the entirety of their features. Oliver eyed the prisoner, puzzled. His father never brought any of their cell mates to the home. It was strictly forbidden for several reasons, most of all to keep the Queen Estate private and secure.

“Come in,” his father’s voice called, breaking him from his thoughts. As Oliver entered, Robert Queen waved a hand at his guards, signalling them to exit. Now, Oliver knew something was up. Robert Queen allowing them to be alone in this room with a prisoner was even more peculiar. Oliver heard the door close behind him as he stepped forward towards his father, fingers laced behind his back, head bowed.

“Why do you stand so stiffly?” asked Robert, alcohol lacing his tone. Oliver’s eyes met his father’s watery ones before taking a quick glance at the FIre Whiskey bottle. It was already half gone. “Sit down, Oliver. We have much to discuss.”

Oliver obeyed, taking the seat opposite Robert, his heart pounding in his chest. This was unlike his father in any way. His posture was more relaxed, though that could be due to the liquor, but his face was not so. It looked strained--older, if possible. Oliver kept a steady breath as he waited for his father to speak, trying to avoid glancing over at the prisoner, who kept surprisingly still. An immobility spell, perhaps? It would make sense, given that they were in the house. His mother would have a fit if she walked in on this.

Not that it mattered, Mr. Queen’s decisions were above all else. Oliver had figured that out quite quickly in adolescence.

Robert Queen poured Fire Whiskey into the empty shot glass on Oliver’s side, motioning him with a few fingers to drink. “I’ll allow it,” he said. “You will need it.”

Feeling on edge, Oliver would have rather not, but knew he had little choice in the matter. He gave his father a curt nod before swallowing the contents of the glass, his dry throat burning from it. Fire Whiskey was not his favorite alcohol of choice.

“Good,” said Robert. “It is, and has always been, a tradition in our family to share a drink before we discuss serious matters. This is one of those times. I know you are underage by magical law, but as a Queen, you are old enough."

With a breath, Robert continued. “I’m sure you have no doubt the presence of another in this room, Oliver. One of our prisoners. You are probably curious as to why this is. Before I reveal them to you and name their crimes, I want to make something clear.

You are a Queen. The blood that runs in you is pure, like snow. Both of these attributes come with responsibilities that, could I avoid, I would. But you are my blood, and as such, when I pass, the safety and responsibility of my--of our family, will rest in you. We have friends, Oliver, but we also have enemies. Those that would seek to take everything from us. This is why I have been training you so hard. You must be ready for what is to come, and what is to be expected of you. I had hoped--” a sharp intake of breath, his father closed his eyes for a moment, as if his next words physically hurt him, “--that this could have waited. But it cannot. I must ask this of you, Oliver. As my son. As a Queen. It is time.”

He poured out another shot and drank it back. Oliver watched, being careful not to breathe, not to speak, not to flinch, listening intently to every word, despite the chill that was going down his spine.

“You will be given an assignment. One of which requires you for one last, and final test. I have told you that you were not ready yet, to glimpse into the world in which your Mother and I have built an empire in. But now it matters not if you are ready. You must pass this. Only then will I know you are ready. If you fail...”

His fathers eyes turned dark, piercing through Oliver like a knife.

“Let us hope you don’t.”

Oliver rolled his tongue to swallow hard, but nodded in response.

“Do you understand?” asked Robert.

"Yes, I understand.” said Oliver.

“Good.”

Robert rose from his chair, taking his wand with him, Oliver following suit. He walked towards the prisoner, still perfectly in place, not moving a muscle.

“This prisoner has been caught for treason against us. They have disobeyed my orders, and put our family in danger, all for their own selfish desires. You know the punishment for this, yes?"

"Execution by wand," replied Oliver, his voice croaky from the alcohol still tinging in his throat. "The Killing Curse, to be specific."

"Correct," said Robert. "And we do this why?"

"To protect our family from those that would betray us further. To send a message... a warning."

"Very good," Robert approved, then paused, his eyes narrowed towards the prisoner. The silence in the room was suffocating, and Oliver was certain he could cut the tension, it was so thick. The unmoving prisoner was, in particular, unsettling, but he did not speak, waiting for his father to get the next step.

Robert let out a breath, face contorted into something frustrated, angry.

"I want you to carry out this punishment."

The words carried so much weight, Oliver felt for a moment he might collapse under them. But something deeper, darker, held him up, his jaw clenching tightly.  _This is the test,_ he thought to himself, staring at the masked prisoner.  _He wants to see if I can do it... if I can take a life, if necessary, for the family._ _  
_

"We do not kill blind, Oliver," his father continued, after giving his son a moment to process, "It is a code in our family to meet our foes in the eye when we take their lives. It is out of  _respect,_ and necessary. I don't tolerate cowardice or killing out of anger and spite. Only when it is required of us. Once you have done this, then, we can discuss what comes next. But first, I must know if you are capable of handing out the very sentence you agree this person deserves. _Finite incantatem_ ," Robert said, wand pointed at the prisoner. Oliver's theories had been correct; they had been petrified in some way, unable to move until now. The prisoner squirmed, fighting hard against the restraints, not getting very far and nearly falling over in their panicked state.

"Are you ready?" inquired his father, staring pensively at him.

Oliver pursed his lips together, unable to speak. He simply nodded.

Taking out his wand from his pocket, Oliver stepped forward towards the prisoner. He steeled himself, prepared to see the pleading eyes that would no doubt beg for mercy, and told himself he would not break under it. He couldn't.

Reaching out, he gripped the cloth atop their head. What he saw, nothing could prepare him for.

As he removed the hood from the prisoner’s face, his skin went stark white, cold, freezing him into place, as though someone had petrified  _him._

_No… no. This… this can’t be right. This can’t be right,_ his mind raced, unable to comprehend what was happening, hands beginning to tremble.

Thea, his sister, was gazing up at him, eyes wide and full of tears, lips stuck together with a spell -- the same spell that Oliver's father had used on him countless amounts of time to keep him quiet. But he did not need to hear her to know what she was saying, her eyes said it all.

_"Ollie?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey  
> Remember when I was all like  
> GONNA UPDATE IN THE NEXT FEW WEEKS GUYS  
> and then a month passed  
> and I didn't update?
> 
> GOOD TIMES RIGHT? HAHAHA.
> 
> Just kidding. I'm SO sorry for this late update, but school started in August and it literally kicked my butt to the curb. Never get a medical degree... ever.
> 
> So, truth be told, I had this chapter ready for awhile (along with Chapter 8), but it needed some heavy revisions and editing. I cut out some stuff to move it to the next chapter because I wanted to leave on a cliff-hanger of sorts. I hope you guys like this, though. It was really fun writing Oliver trying to text Felicity. Maybe if I have spare time, I'll write a separate, off the books chapter about Oliver's adventures at a muggle bookstore LOL. 
> 
> Also, I know this chapter didn't have a lot of YAY MAGIC SPELLS ACTION WOOHOO in it, but I promise I'll make up for it.
> 
> Anyway, Chapter 8 is already written, just needs a lot of love and some fixin's. By next Chapter, we'll be at King's Cross on our way to Hogwarts. I really, really hope you guys like this chapter. I'm feeling a little self-conscious about it. I'm ready for Hogwarts, so writing the plot to get us there has me dying. Plus, next update, GRYFFINDOR DIGGLE. And him and Oliver do NOT get along first meeting ;)
> 
> Please, let me know what you think. Feedback is always amazing, but a kudos ain't bad either. :) Thank you so much, you are all so supportive and wonderful, I love it. 
> 
> If you would like to send me a personal message, have a question about the story, or yell at me for updating so late, feel free to message me on tumblr (potter-lovegood) or here. :) 
> 
> Love you guys! thank you thank you so much!


	8. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and his father have a discussion that could possibly change Oliver's life forever. 
> 
> (P.S.: Heavy Oliver-Centric chapter incoming.)

Oliver felt as though he had been pushed under water by a hand that would not allow him to come up for breath.

He watched as Thea writhed, tears streaming down her face, lower lip quivering as her chest heaved with rapid breathing. She was not just scared. She was  _ terrified. _

And there he was, standing rooted to the spot, wand in hand, being asked to execute her.

His own flesh and blood.

His  _ sister. _

Was he dreaming? Was this a nightmare? An illusion? The magic in his bones crackled like lightning in his veins, and as quickly as he considered the idea that it might be, the realization that it was not nearly struck him to his knees.

The only thing that kept him from falling next to her, pushing strands of hair away from her dampening face, soothing her with gentle words was the presence of his father behind him, watching; waiting.

Smelling his hesitance.

“You--” Oliver tried to speak but his mouth was so dry, he choked. Fists tightened at his own lack of calm, wand gripped like a vice in his hand. “You… this is--”

“A prisoner,” Robert supplemented. 

Oliver grit his teeth. “Thea is not a prisoner.”

“And yet, this person has betrayed us, making them so,” said his father, with all the calm of a still ocean.

Which, in turn, made Oliver the hurricane.

“Fuck you!” He cursed, and in a moment the environment in the room shifted, shaking as in seconds he had his father up against the wall, one hand around his neck, the other pointing the tip of his wand at the man’s jugular vein. Any fear of his father left with the muted sobbing noises of Thea behind him. “What kind of test is this? How the  _ fuck _ is this protecting our family!?”

Robert eyed him for a moment, before the bastards lips twitched, as if holding back a fucking  _ smile _ , entirely unphased.

“They are not family,” Robert croaked out. Oliver’s grip swelled.

“She’s  _ your daughter. _ ”

A ragged laugh came from his father’s mouth, and with it, words that sent a chill down Oliver’s spine.

“How do you know?” He asked. Oliver stilled, confused, not lessening or tightening the fingers around Robert’s neck. 

_ How do you know? _

The words repeated themselves over and over in his brain, and Oliver searched his father’s eyes, trying to discern the stillness of his expression.

“Don’t disappoint me, Oliver,” his father warned. Oliver’s palms began to burn and he felt a surge of magic against his own, like a barrier beginning to go up between them. He thought, for a moment then, to kill him. To execute  _ him _ instead, before he could retaliate,  _ Avada Kedavra  _ cutting through the back of his thoughts, but--

_ They. _

_ This person. _

_ How do you know? _

Oliver released his hands from his father like his skin had been singed.

This was a test.

All of it a test.

Oliver rounded on the prisoner and pointed his wand.

“ _ Dimittere Loquiso! _ ”

In an instant, Thea’s lips were loosened, allowing fully audible sobs to wreak through her mouth.

“O-Oliver!” She cried out, “O-Ollie, I--I don’t know what’s happening--what’s going on--why is--”

“Stop,” he said, keeping his wand afloat with all the willpower he could muster.

“B-but, Ollie--”

“ _ Quiet. _ ” 

Thea’s eyes went wide at his demanding tone, but became silent outside of small hiccups and stuffed inhales. Oliver stared at her trembling figure for a long moment, studying, trying to understand what he needed to do. Perhaps it was an illusion? A disguisement charm of some sort, to trick him into seeing someone close to him? But no, he felt nothing, no air of magic such as that. What if she was real? Then what would he do? Kill his father? Then they might both die.

His head began to throb with dead end deductions, all of them as likely as the last. 

A heavy sob from Thea caused his eyes to refocus on her.

“O-Ollie, please, I can’t--are you going to k-kill me?” She blubbered, desperation created anew from his estranged silence. 

He opened his mouth, thinking of what to say, wanting to tell her  _ it will be fine, you will be alright, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, ever-- _ when an idea occurred to him, so obvious he nearly kicked himself. If it was her, if it was  _ truly _ her…

“Why do you call me that?” He snapped sharply, eyeing her like a hawk.   
The question throws her off guard, eyebrows knitting into a confused knot, sniffing loudly.

“W-what do you mean? Call you what?” 

“Ollie,” he said. “Why do you call me Ollie?”

“I don’t understand. Y-you’re my brother, I’ve always--”

“When was the first time?” He interrupted her. “The first time you called me Ollie. Why? When? Where? Tell me.  _ Now. _ ” His voice is borderline shaking in his attempt to keep his composure, keep himself in control. It feels like the ground beneath his feet is vibrating, waiting to fall out from under him if he doesn’t steady himself. 

He stares at her, waiting for an answer.

The first time she called him Ollie.

The same day he realized he’d do anything to protect her.

It was a story they both knew well. A story that reminded him, always, of why his life could not ever be his own, if she was to have  _ her _ own.

When she hesitated to respond, eyes desperately searching him as if he would somehow give away the answer, he knew. 

Then,  _ she _ knew, and a small and crooked smile spread slowly across her lips. A manic glint in her eyes as they stared, amused, up at him.

He took a step forward, hand gripping his wand so tight it might break.

“ _ Who--are--you? _ ” Oliver interrogated, a new type of enmity burning inside of him.

The woman still carrying Thea’s face laughed, then hardened into animosity, glaring. 

“глупый мальчик,” she sneered, her Russian accent claiming Thea’s mouth. “Would it matter if you knew? Kill me and be done with it. Or are you a coward?”

“I am  _ not _ a coward,” Oliver snapped, clenching his molars together. “Tell me, who are you, and why do you look like Thea? What have you done?”

The woman huffed, rolling her eyes. 

“Твой отец не научил вас ничего,” she scoffed.

“Do as she says, Oliver,” said Robert from behind him, causing him to flinch slightly in surprise. Oliver had forgotten his father had still been there. “She is a traitor. She has put this upon herself.”

“Yes,  _ Ollie, _ ” teased the woman, her voice reverted back into an exact replica of Thea’s, causing Oliver’s stomach to churn. The corner of her lips twitching up into another horrible, twisted smile. “Listen to your dear father. He has only had the best for you in mind, hasn’t he? Asking you to kill a prisoner bound at your feet like a suffering  _ animal _ with no way of fighting back. How very fair and  _ noble. _ ”

Oliver wavered, eyes glued to the woman who still had Thea’s face. Despite knowing it  _ wasn’t _ her, he still--he couldn’t--

_ It still looked like Thea. _

He looked away from her, trying to shake the guilt from his mind.

_ Bound at my feet like a suffering animal. _

_ No way of fighting back. _

_ A test. _

_ Traitor. _

_ What is fair? _

“Your sister would be  _ so _ proud,” said the woman, mimicking the same, sarcastic tone that his sister always carried. His eyes shot back to her, sharp and incriminating, but she only continued to grin up at him. 

“I’ll be sure to tell her how  _ heroic _ her brother is. Describe every detail of how you  _ torture _ and  _ maim  _ while I slowly rip apart her flesh from  _ every limb-- _ ”

“NO!” Oliver roared, and before he knew what was happening, his lips had launched a crucio spell directly at the woman. Her body hit the floor, writhing in pain, screams piercing through him. His sister's face, contorted in agony. But he couldn’t see her anymore, couldn’t see anything but  _ red _ , couldn’t hear anything but his heart beating loudly in his ears. His feet carried him towards her, directing his wand down towards her spasming body. His eyes stung as he watched her claw at her face,  _ Thea’s _ face, in a fit of pain.

“I’m not a hero,” he whispered, only for himself to hear. “But I don’t have to be, to protect my family.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating, focusing on filtering how her cries as she began to babble incoherently in Russian, half begging for her life, half damning him to Hell.

He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t care.

This was a test.

With all the magical energy he could summon, he opened his eyes, staring down hard at her, and spat out the spell like a curse.

“ _ Avada Kedavra! _ ”

The green light burst from the tip of his wand, bright and all-consuming, hitting the woman square in the chest, the ghost of a scream still on her lips as her life passed from her in an instant. The resonating emerald aura fizzled out gently into the air, dissipating like mist. 

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then, the sound of his wand clattering onto the wooden floor.

His entire body shook, mentally, physically and emotionally rattled. He had never cast a Killing Curse before now, and the residual magic left in the air made him sick to his stomach. He swallowed down the vomit that threatened to come up, unable to comprehend what he had just done.

He took a life.

Stopped a once beating heart.

An existence, ended, by  _ his hands. _

An existence with the face of his sister.

“Oliver,” came his Father’s voice from behind him, a hand falling to his shoulder with a gentle grip he did not think possible from the man.

The touch only made it that much harder for Oliver not to break into pieces.

“ _ Oliver, _ ” His father repeated. “You cannot hide your face from this. You did what must be done. You took the measures needed to protect this family. Look.”

Oliver’s mind raged against the command, but he submitted, raising his eyes, afraid that his sister's lifeless face might be staring back at him.

It wasn’t.

Instead, a woman Oliver had never seen before, never known, laid dead before him. Her face was stark white now (what color had it been before he killed her, he wondered), eyes void of any color or signs of life. Her hair was a strangled mess of blond, matted against her face, which appeared far more hollow and starved than the form she had taken before.

He swallowed thickly, realizing.

“A Metamorphmagus,” he quietly concluded.

“Yes,” his father replied, lifting his palm from Oliver’s shoulder. “A very talented one. We hired her on because of this in hopes that she might infiltrate others and gain us pivotal information. In exchange for certain… protections. However, she became prideful, arrogant, and greedy. Her lack of loyalty put us in danger in more ways than you know.”

Oliver watched as his Robert stepped towards the woman on the ground. He used the tip of his shoe on her temple to move her head to the side, staring down at her in disgust, making a  _ tsk _ of disdain.

Then, he spat down at a spot directly next to her face, into her hair.

“Should have known better than to hire on a  _ mudblood _ ,” he grumbled. “One of things you will soon learn is that when you are a pure-blood _ , _ you can never trust one of  _ them. _ They will betray you, every time.”

The face of a blond-haired Ravenclaw flashed through his mind.

Oliver bit his lower lip until he tasted blood.

“I must admit,” said Robert, “I did not know what form she would take to try and grant your favor. I thought, perhaps, a friend, someone easier to impersonate. The fact that it was Thea only proves that I was correct in my fears that she knew too much.”

“She knew I would be the executioner,” stated Oliver. It was not a question. 

“She did,” confirmed Robert. “She did not know that  _ she _ would be the prisoner.”

Oliver tried to ignore the guilt pooling inside of him. How long had the woman lived, unknowing that she was only being set up to die? Did she have family? What  _ protections _ did she need so badly that she sold herself over to his Father?

He looked away.

Numbness spread through him like a sickness.

_ No, _ he thought.  _ It doesn’t matter. It can’t. _

Straightening himself, Oliver breathed steadily, trying to regain his balance as his magical energy attempted to return to equilibrium. His father watched him, impressed.

“You’ve done well, Oliver,” he said, once Oliver stood straight and took a few dragged inhales. “You should be proud of yourself.”

Oliver would have laughed, had he not felt so tired that he might buckle over. What was there to be proud of? He felt as though he failed on all accounts.

“I tried to kill you,” he grunted.  
  
“Ah,” Robert clicked his tongue, “I am sure that will not be the last attempt. This… life that we lead, Oliver… It asks us sometimes to do things we would, under any other circumstances, never do. And yet, you will learn with time that you  _ must,  _ because the alternative is far worse.”

Oliver fell silent, letting his father’s words sink into him. He could not help but wonder what terrible things his father had done to protect  _ him. _ Things he would possibly never know about.

Just like Thea would never know about this.

“What do we do now?” He asked. His father gave him a pensive look.

“Now, we wait.”

“Wait? For what?”

Robert Queen placed both of his hands behind his back, standing tall, eyes scanning his office, as though looking for something. When his sights finally settled on an area beyond Oliver, he nodded to himself.

“A change of scenery,” his father announced.

Before Oliver could ask, something strange started to occur.

The surrounding office began to morph before his eyes into scales not unlike that of a dragon. They chipped off, breaking like glass onto the floor, shards disappearing into puffs of smoke. Underneath them, a duller, nastier interior was revealed. The objects of the room started to break apart into particles, then nothingness, as if they had never truly been there to begin with. 

Oliver felt increasingly dizzy as the ground beneath his feet was no longer finely waxed and shining wooden panels, but dirty cement. The warmth of his home quickly turned into the coldness of the underground. Goosebumps ran up and down his skin as he gazed, baffled at what was happening around him. This was not a form of transportation he knew, if it was transportation at all. No, this was something deeper,  _ darker. _ He may have been exhausted, but he could still feel the magic in the air, prickling around his body like static.

How could he have not noticed this before?

“Your mother has always been very talented at this kind of magic,” Robert explained, a hint of pride in his tone. “She was not… happy, with the idea. But I could not allow you any pretense of what was happening. If I had brought you down here myself, you would have steeled yourself. You will find that in many situations, you will not have the luxury of accurate presumption.”

Oliver could hardly process what his father was saying, far too bewildered by what was going on around him.

Somehow, in a matter of seconds, Robert Queen’s office had changed, reverting into a place that Oliver knew all too well.

The Dungeon’s below the Queen Estate.

His father only chuckled in response to Oliver’s reaction.

“As an old friend once told me…  _ Constant vigilance. _ ”   
  


* * *

 

It amazed Oliver that only moments ago, he had been sitting in his kitchen, smiling and laughing with his best friend of 17 years. That his lips had swept across his mother’s cheek, an act of quiet love and appreciation, while unbeknownst to him she was calculating a spell that would send his world upside down. That she was watching him walk away, fully aware of what was waiting for him on the other side of this. That she, just as much as his father, was apart of this little set-up that had left him standing dizzied and lost in the middle of a cold dungeon underneath their home. 

“How…” He started, but was at a loss for words.

“As I said,” replied his father, “Your mother’s work. You know, she is very good at wordless magic. Powerful, and extremely helpful when necessary. It was one of the reasons she was picked for me as a wife.”

Oliver’s eyes widened at those words.

_ Picked for you? _

“No doubt, she began the spell sometime after coming in contact with you. I’m sure you do not remember. You did not come back into consciousness until you were led here.”

“Consciousness…”

“Yes,” continued Robert. “A spell to put you under a trance, so that you would not remember coming here, but rather think you were going to my office. It was necessary, in order for you to be in the correct set of mind for the task.”

Oliver’s hands coiled into fists.

His mother. His  _ mother had done this. _

He shouldn’t be surprised. He should’ve known. Something had felt off the moment he stepped away from her. But he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything at all, only walking to his father’s office. Had that all been a dream? When had he lost consciousness of his own mind? How powerful was she?

And what, exactly, was Mrs. Queen in relation to his father?

He had no shackles, no bonds, nor anything to hold him back from the anger he felt. So why did he feel like the prisoner here? His father was staring, watching him, a crook in the corner of his mouth, as though this moment were something to be treasured and captivated in his mind. 

Oliver dared not look away, or show weakness. Now was the time for answers, and he would not get them if he were to fight back. Not easily, anyway. For all he knew, both of his parents were far more proficient with magic than either of them let on. Perhaps he would’ve been proud, or even amazed, had the circumstances been different. But he he had just taken a woman’s life with his hands. A woman of which he only knew the sins of, not the background or the reasoning behind her motives. They, his parents, had set this up for him together. Conspired in such a way to make him lose sense of himself completely.

He was vulnerable, and under his father’s gaze,  _ small. _

Oliver clenched his jaw even as he spoke through grit teeth.

“And now?” He dared to ask.

  
“Now?” Robert repeated. “Now, we finish your initiation as the heir to this family, and to this Brotherhood.”

Finally breaking the eye contact between them, Robert rotated on his heels towards one of the walls. Taking out his wand, he reached the tip of near the top of the wall and tapped twice. A strange sound of something moving rumbled through the dungeon as Oliver watched, piqued with curiosity.  _ More secrets, _ he thought. His father continued this method on different parts of the wall, as though marking out some kind of symbol that Oliver could not see. After going counter-clockwise in a strange formation for a few moments, the dungeon still tremoring around them, Robert stopped and everything came to a still.

They both waited for a moment in absolute silence. Just as Oliver was about to open his mouth and say something, wondering if perhaps Robert had screwed this particular “unlocking” incantation somehow, a large section of the wall pulled back, emitting clouds of dust and small pebbles of rock in its wake as it rose up and disappeared into the ceiling. Without turning back to look at him, Robert began to walk forward into a dimly lit tunnel revealed on the other side, disappearing into the warm, orange flickering light. Oliver hesitated, but quickly came to step behind his father, looking around in both surprise and wonder. The fire's lighting the tunnel were not attached to anything. They were simply floating mid-air, kept ablaze purely by magic, though by whose Oliver did not know. 

“How did I never sense this?” Oliver questioned himself under his breath.

“Because,” came his father’s reply. “You are not apart of  _ us _ yet. Once you have joined the brotherhood, many passageways in this estate will be known to you and be of access to you.”

“Seems a lot more security than we need,” He muttered.   
  
“That is because you are blissfully unaware of the attempts made on our lives daily, as is your sister,” Robert bristled coldly. Oliver stood a little more upright at that, feeling a flush of shame run through him. Evidently, there were many things he did not know, which both frustrated him and terrified him. A combination of emotions that was slowly growing stronger as his magical energy steadily replenished from earlier. He still felt weaker than normal, but he could still feel the spark of magic in his hand as he gripped his wand tightly. He, unlike his parents, did not excel in wordless magic, but he did have a bit of power when it came to wandless magic. Though, it could be argued that was due to his strong emotions rather than his own personal strength. The wand kept him grounded, however, and acted as a receiver for the fears that were trembling through him, soothing him.

Whatever was to come, he had to be ready. He couldn’t fly off the handle again.

“Here we are,” said Robert, making a sharp turn to the right, despite the paths branching off into different directions. Oliver hastily followed suit. The pair came to a door, and Oliver could sense the heavy magic guarding it. It was made of a special kind of metal that Oliver had never seen before. A brushed bronze that looked harder than steel. There were no locks, no handles. Nothing that indicated that this “door” was to be opened in any physical way.

Robert gripped his wand in its middle, and pressed the wand forward, into the door. Despite its metallic look, the door absorbed the wand like it was a wave of water washing over it and taking it into its depths. Surprised, Oliver went to step forward to save it, but his father held out a hand.

“Wait,” he commanded, and Oliver fell still.

Within seconds, the door slowly swung open, exposing a oddly decorated room on the other side, along with his father’s wand that had somehow traveled to the other side and was waiting, stuck in the metal. Robert waved a hand and the wand immediately came to his palm.

“Come,” he ordered, and Oliver obeyed.

The space they entered was once far different than any area Oliver had seen before. It reminded him a bit of Gringotts in terms of its darker, damp environment, but the warm firelight kept the room lit in a calming, serene fashion. The walls were not made out of rock or stone but a pale ivory masonry, the floors a catania marble. Columns were spread throughout the room, with deep gold fabric tied around them, the frayed edges shimmering. There were no lounging sofas, bookcases, tables or anything at all. Only a large, star-like symbol in the middle of the room that was inscribed darker than the rest of the floor was adorning it, looking as though it had been scorched into the ground by fire. The sight of it made him slightly ill, though he couldn’t explain why. It was of little surprise when that’s where his father led him, stopping only when they reached the dead middle of the symbol.

“Son,” said Robert. “You have proven your worth and your dedication to this family. For me, such a thing has made you deserving of becoming the heir of this bloodline. But as a Queen, you must understand that the foundation your mother and I built, and our parents before us, was not gained without friendships. Friendships with bonds deeper than mere words and promises. As such, though you have already proven yourself to me, you must prove yourself to those I call my brothers and sisters in our cause.”

Continuing to speak, his father began to open the buttons on his shirt with his free hand, his eyes never leaving Oliver’s. “This world I am introducing you to… this life, is not for the weak-willed, and I do not believe you to be so. I see the fire in you, the anger in your magic, the desire to become stronger, to know more, to protect your family. But for to do this, it requires you to sacrifice the most important thing a man has.”

With swift movements, his father peeled back his now loose shirt, and revealed to him something underneath.

Oliver took a step back, mouth going dry.

Scars. Deep, integrated scars. So numerous that Oliver could not count them all, decorating his father’s body in every which way. It made bile come up in his throat. Yet, that was not the most poignant thing on his skin. What stood out, overall, was a symbol, ingrained into his flesh like a precisely patterned burn mark--the same one that was currently underneath their feet.

“Himself,” said his father, finishing.

Oliver swallowed, heart beginning to pound. The symbol, as harmless as it may have first appeared, had created an onset of dread inside of him, as though merely looking at it was sucking the air from his lungs. His magic responded likewise, wand vibrating in his palm as if to warn him, to escape, but Oliver only held on tighter.

“I don’t understand…” he muttered.

“To become apart of the brotherhood, you must give up yourself and whatever life you had hoped or desired. This promise will become a part of you, will call to you, will influence your decisions from this point forward. You will no longer be answerable to no one. There is a higher purpose for those in the Brotherhood, Oliver. A gathering of those who support each other, who discipline each other, who respect each other for a greater good. We are a family, connected by this mark that binds us, holds us accountable. This is what both your mother and I have built ourselves up in to keep you and your sister safe, to guarantee you a better life, as well as assisting us in reaching our shared goals.”

Oliver stared, processing his father’s words, unable to break contact with the symbol on his chest.  _ This is it, _ he thought.  _ This is what gives him this sort of power. I can feel it. The Mark of the Brotherhood… _

“In order for you to be initiated, however, there must be a show of confidence that you will be able to handle what is to come. Once you are apart of the brotherhood, your life will no longer be the same as it was,” explained Robert. With a flick of his wand, a scroll popped into the air next to them, and unraveled, revealing what appeared to be some kind of contract, the Mark of the Brotherhood near the bottom, painted in blood red ink.

Oliver lifted an eyebrow. “This is?”

“A contract,” answered Robert. “Designed specifically for you. While I may be certain of your talents and dedication to our family, the rest of the Brotherhood is not. This was…” his father’s eyes narrowed. “This was not the way it was suppose to be, but due to current events, you are in an excellent position in which to help us and prove yourself to them.”

“So, I have to complete this task in order to join the Brotherhood,” Oliver resolved. 

“Yes. Once you have done so, you will be fully initiated. For now, I can only offer you a portion of the bond.”

Instinctively, Oliver put out a hand to grab onto the contract, but just as his fingers were about to brush the parchment, his father waved his wand and snapped it back from him. Furring his eyebrows, Oliver shot his father a confused glare.

“Oliver.”

His father's voice, paired with a movement of covering up the symbol with his shirt once more, gave him pause. A sight that made him still even more so was how his father’s expression, hard and concrete through his speech, had softened, the lines around his eyes and mouth no longer sharp, his eyes giving him a gentle look that Oliver had never seen before.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, son?” His father inquired, voice calm and almost despairing, as though he were handing his son a death sentence.

For all Oliver knew, perhaps he was.

Silence momentarily filled the air between them as father and son held each other's gaze steadily. It was with all the daring he could muster that Oliver asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

Oliver watched his father's mouth twitch, jaw tightening just as Oliver’s so often did when put in difficult situations. It was the first time, he realizes, that he sees himself in his father, staring back at him with such clarity. Before, he thought the strings connecting them to be weak, based mostly off of master and subordinate roles. Now, as recollections of the scars on his father’s body and the symbol burned into his skin flashed through his mind, the sudden urge to reach out and embrace his father was suffocating him. How many of those were for Oliver? For Thea? For his mother? How many things did his father give up, in order to keep them safe, from whatever was waiting outside this room?

“No,” Robert said finally. “You don’t.”

Oliver felt his heart drop.

“And if I choose to walk away?” He challenged.

A switch was turned, and just like that, his father’s expression became guarded once more, losing all emotion and turning indecipherable. 

“Then I would do what I had to.”

Oliver felt his hands turn into fists, glaring hard at the man who called himself  _ father _ , all sympathy draining from him.  _ So in the end, I’m just disposable to you, _ he thought, bitterly.

_What else can I do?_  He asked himself, already knowing the answer. If anything, there was a small comfort in knowing that this was not an initiation, just a step towards it. Still, there was no escape here, no way to get out of this without giving an answer. For Oliver, he knew there was, truly, only one.  


The image of his sister, younger, smiling and laughing, calling him  _Ollie,_ holding onto his hand, came to mind.

Parents be damned. If he was going to protect her... if this was the only way to make sure...

It took everything inside of him to destroy any ounce of pride and self-preservation he still had to bring himself to a kneel before his father, bowing his head low to the ground and setting his wand gingerly on the floor. It stung his skin to leave it, but he tried his best to remain stoic. He would not give his father the satisfaction of seeing the internal war inside of him.  _Never,_ his pride raged,  _Never will I let you break me again._ The act was one of pure submission in the Wizarding World, to give up ones wand and leave oneself defenseless and into the hands of the one they were kneeling to. It was a motion that could portray total trust, but more often than not only illustrated helplessness.

In this case, the picture was clear.

Robert bent low to meet him, and Oliver felt the tip of his father’s wand tap the top of his head.

“Look at me, Oliver,” he commanded. Obliging, Oliver raised his chin and met his father’s stoney stare with one equally strong.  
  
“Give me your wand arm.”

He obeyed, his father taking his arm into a firm grip, trailing the tip of his wand down it was though he were tracing the lines of his veins. Oliver was puzzled at first, wondering what his father was doing, until he felt a strong burning sensation begin to sizzle on his skin where his father’s wand had just been.

“You can yell,” his father told him quietly. “No one will hear you down here.”

Oliver blinked, right before a pain he had never felt before surged through his entire body, causing a scream that did not sound like his own to come from his lips, eyes going blind with white light.  
  
Behind his father and him, a signature drawn in the same blood red ink as the symbol began to draw itself onto the contract.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a week.

A week since she heard from him. Even longer since she had heard his voice. And while common sense told her that he probably had good reason and would explain everything to her once they were at school, the louder voice in her head kept rehearsing worse possible scenarios at any given moment of her day.

Felicity can’t help but wonder, briefly, if she had been played.

She stared down at the phone in her pink, fingerless gloved hands, and stared at his name and his contact number.  _ Oliver Queen, _ it read. She bit her lip, tasting strawberry from the gloss on it.

_ Maybe… Maybe I should call him, _ she considered. But how many times had that worked this week? Endless ignored text messages and unanswered phone calls only deepened the sick feeling sitting in her stomach. No, it was safer just to leave him be and try to catch him on the train. He would be there, she knew it. Somehow, the lack of communication only heightened the amount of butterflies fluttering around in her insides making her want to throw up.

Oh, God, she really hoped that didn’t actually happen.

She was not a pretty puker.

“Felicity!” A voice called out, and her head immediately snapped up.

Everything around her shifted back into focus.

Her mother and her had been sitting on the stone steps outside of a small shop near King’s Cross, waiting. Donna Smoak had been talking furiously on the phone with someone Felicity didn’t know, and while she usually found herself riddled with curiosity when it came to her mother’s “contacts”, her head had been elsewhere lately. 

Both Felicity and Donna were broken from their personal bubbles when Sara came striding down the sidewalk, a man and another girl, both significantly taller, in tow.

Donna muttered a quick goodbye to the person on the other line, and immediately snapped her flip phone shut, a bright smile spreading across her face.

“Ohhh, look who it is! My favorite little family!”

The Lance's were, indeed, a small family, made up of only Quentin Lance and his two daughters, Sara and Laurel. They were both Felicity and Donna's first "magical" family friends, and Quentin had been essential in helping Donna learn how to deal with having a Witch as a daughter. 

He grinned when he saw Donna, one so broad and sincere that Felicity couldn’t help but wonder if he reserved it just for his mother. Sara pulled Felicity into a tight hug, squeezing her. As soon as she was released, she was gathered up into another embrace from Sara’s sister, Laurel, though she had far less of a grip than Sara did.

“Hi Felicity,” greeted Laurel. Felicity smiled up at her.

“Hi, Laurel.”

Laurel Lance was such stark difference than her sister, Sara. While Felicity did consider her a friend, she was not nearly as close with her as she was with Sara. Perhaps it was the age, or the personality, but Laurel was far more kept up into herself, concentrating more on studies rather than social pleasures. Sara and Quentin often joked that Laurel should’ve been put in Ravenclaw, but Felicity disagreed. Laurel may have been more subdued and studious, but she was fierce in her opinions, abidance of rules, and the structure of how things “should be”. She was also extremely brave, a trait that could be seen most clearly whenever she witnessed bullying or other similar activities taking place at Hogwarts.

To Felicity, Laurel was as much of a Gryffindor as anyone else she knew, which is why it came as no surprise when Sara announced that her sister had been chosen for Head Girl during Laurel’s last year at Hogwarts.

“I mean, it’s like they just  _ knew _ how large the stick up her butt is,” said Sara nonchalantly, her hands stuffed inside her black jean pockets as the group was making their way to King’s Cross. 

“Sara!” both Quentin and Laurel admonished at the same time, sending Sara twin glares.

“What!” exclaimed Sara. “Come on, y’know I’m proud of you, Laurel,” she grinned. “Just keeping up with the whole Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalship.”

Laurel sighed audibly. “That died out a lot time ago, Sara. House unity has come very far since the war at Hogwarts took place…”

“Pfft, says the girl who is notoriously known for always squashing my housemates pranks…”

“Your mean  _ your _ pranks,” Laurel corrected.

“Hey, when I suffer, the whole House suffers,” Sara shot back.

“Well, if you don’t want your  _ House _ to suffer, then maybe you shouldn’t be switching out your classmates quills with combustible ones that explode every time a student tries to write anything but  _ Nyssa has a nice rear  _ on their Potions notes--”

“Wait--you  _ WHAT?! _ ” Quentin exclaimed in shock, face going pale. Both daughters ignored him.

“Okay, first off, Nyssa  _ does _ have a nice rear and I don’t really see the problem with that, and  _ second _ , the only reason why the quills were combustible was because a certain Ravenclaw--who shall remain anonymous--put the wrong charm on them--”

Felicity visibly flushed and set her sights on cars passing by on the street, hoping that no one would notice her red cheeks. Thankfully, no one looked her way and, therefore, did not notice, though Donna did raise an eyebrow at Sara’s comment.

“And anyway, what’s life without a little bit of spark thrown in?” said Sara with a wink.

“Less flammable,” Laurel muttered, rolling her eyes. Sara and Felicity both laughed at that.

“Why do I never hear about these things…” Felicity heard Quentin whisper, rubbing circles in his forehead with two fingers, Donna giving him a reassuring rub on his back, giggling herself.

The two families came to King’s Cross Station fairly quickly, with mild bickering inbetween. By the time they arrived, Felicity and Laurel were exchanging Charm Class notes they had taken from studying over break, whereas Sara and Quentin were both trying to explain to Donna the logistics of Professional Quidditch after Donna had asked Sara what sport the team logo printed across her luggage belonged to. All of them had been so integrated into their conversations, once they came to Platform 9 ¾, the reality of them parting became a sad realization.

"Oh no," Donna whispered, dread filling her face. "Why do we have to do this  _every year..._ "

Still, despite the whining, Donna as well as Quentin followed their respective children through the pillar, though without fail Felicity’s mother had a dramatic “almost-fainting” attack afterwards which involved Quentin holding her close this chest and keeping her steady.

After doing that for so many years, Felicity was convinced she was doing it on purpose. Though, she couldn’t really blame her mother if she wasn’t. She still got goosepimples that ran up and down her arms and legs every time she surged through that dang pillar. It was one big anxiety-filled event that Felicity dreaded every year, scared that one day it would just decide not to let her in ever again.

Once they had left the muggle station and stepped into the wizarding one, Felicity felt a strong aura of calm surround her, despite the hustle and bustle raging around as large groups of families and students were clamouring about. 

_ Home, _ she thought, watching as two Hogwarts students attempted to corral their oversized owl back into its small cage before one of the older adults came over and waved their wand, conjuring a charm to make the cage bigger, producing twin sighs of relief from the students.

_ I’m home. _

It was a feeling she couldn’t explain, and yet one that overtook her every year on Platform 9 ¾. 

She couldn’t help the broad smile that strained her cheeks.

“Finally here,” sighed Sara, waving at a few passerby students who greeted her. 

“I got the luggage,” offered Quentin, smoothly taking out his wand and motioning towards Sara, Felicity and Laurel’s bags.

“Such a sweetheart,” said Donna, lashes fluttering. Quentin visibly blushed, scratching the back of his neck. The girls all rolled their eyes at the same time.

“It’s really not a problem, Ms. Smoak…”

“Oh, Quentin, stop with the formalities!” Her mother giggled, leaning in to close the space between them. “Really, we’ve known eachother for so long…” 

“O-of course, Donna. Sorry.”

“Would you like me to walk with you?”

“You’ve already walked enough, and you’re in heels--”

“It’s okay, I know if I fall, you’ll be right there to catch me, right, Quentin?”

Sara gagged and even Laurel looked away, though she was smiling.

“So stupid,” Sara muttered to Felicity, who was trying her best to ignore her mother's over-the-top flirting as the two wandered off, the luggage enchanted to follow them on its own. 

“Well, I’m going,” announced Laurel. “I have to meet with all the head girls and boys at the head cabin to go over the patrolling roster for the new first years coming in. Looks like we’ve got a large haul of kids this year.”

“Yeah yeah,” Sara said, waving her hand impatiently. “Have fun.”

“You’re gonna do great, Laurel,” Felicity told her, and meant it. Laurel grinned in response, eyes lighting up.

“Thank you, Felicity.” She replied before turning to her sister and giving her an incriminating stare.

“No pranks on the train,” she warned.

“Who, me?” Sara asked with an expression of mock-innocence, pointing to herself. 

Laurel sighed, exasperated, before shaking her head and walking away, quickly evaporating into the consuming crowd.

Left with just the two of them, Felicity couldn’t help but let her gaze wander. Somewhere in this mess of people was Oliver Queen. Before she realized it, she was looking for him, wondering if she could spot him somehow. He could already be on the train, but…

_ It would be nice, _ she thought,  _ to see him. I want to see him. I want to know he’s okay, at the least... _

It wasn’t until Sara elbowed Felicity gently in the side was she taken out of her stupor.

“Everything okay?” Sara inquired. “You’ve been super quiet this whole time.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, not quite meeting her friends eyes. She hadn’t told Sara that Oliver hadn’t contacted her lately in fear of what she might say--or, more likely,  _ do. _ “I’m just… taking it all in, I guess. It seems really busy this year.”

“Seen Oliver yet?” 

Felicity stiffened. The question, although innocent, ultimately made her feel as though she had just been punched in the chest. Felicity couldn’t help but suck in a quick breath, adjusting her glasses.

_ Get it together, Felicity,  _ she scolded herself.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Ah, well, don’t sweat it too much,” Sara encouraged, rocking back on her heel. “He’ll probably scout you out on the train.”

She leaned shoulder-to-shoulder to Felicity, wiggling her eyebrows. “Should I make sure that you and Mr. Queen get  _ alone time _ in the cabin?”

Despite the gloomy feeling sitting heavy in her gut, she couldn’t help but laugh, a flutter in her chest from the thought of seeing him again. 

“Ohh, is that a blush I see?” Sara teased, pointing towards the heat traveling up her neck through her cheeks. Felicity only giggled more, shrugging her friend away from her.

“For the record, I can handle myself,” said Felicity, a bit sheepishly.

“Aha!” exclaimed Sara, folding her arms. “See, I always knew you had a little Slytherin in you.”

Felicity opened her mouth to retort, but stopped when something caught Sara’s eye and she straightened up, looking over the crowd at the very tips of her toes, though that didn’t help much considering how short she was. Felicity was about to ask what she was looking at, but as soon as she followed Sara’s gaze, it became clear. Nyssa had arrived, standing in the middle of the crowd with a scowl so harsh it made  _ Felicity _ take a step back even though she was already a good distance away.

“Yeesh. She looks like she just got the blue screen of death.”

“Uh, what?” asked Sara, eyebrows curled in confusion.

“Sorry, computer reference,” Felicity apologized with a wave of her hand, forgetting that Sara knew little if anything about computers.

“I don’t understand you, but you’re cute,” Sara smirked. “She does look pretty upset though. Probably her Dad being a jerk to her again. I’m gonna go over real quick to say hello. I’ll be back in just a sec, okay?”

Felicity nodded in understanding, moving out of the way so Sara could get through, practically jogging to get to her girlfriend.

She couldn’t help the sad smile that met her lips watching her go.

Now she was all alone.

Sighing, the mountain of anxiety approached her once more as she stuffed her hand in her pocket and took out her phone again, quickly unlocking it, the screen automatically opening up Oliver’s message screen, still displaying the texts he had sent to her long ago. Her heart wrenched staring at them, thinking back to their date in Diagon Alley. His laughter had been so clear to her, then… now, she found herself beginning to forget it.

“Please be okay…” she whispered quietly to herself, running her tongue over her lower lip uneasily. 

She shook her head briefly, as though trying to physically rid herself of thinking of him, putting her phone back into her pocket.

_ No. I’m not gonna let this ruin my time right now. I’m going back to Hogwarts, afterall. I want to be happy. I don’t want to dwell on this. Whatever happens, happens, _ she told herself, nodding in affirmation.  _ Yeah, that’s right, Felicity. You’ll be fine. Just don’t worry about it. _

Taking a deep breath, she raised her face up again, deciding that she should probably look for her mother and Quentin so that she could say goodbye to her before she left. Turning around to glance over the crowd, it was by pure circumstance that her eyes caught a familiar face near the other end of the train.

Felicity’s heart stopped, the color leaving her face as her eyes widened in surprise.

Could it be…?

No, there was no doubt about it.

_ Oliver. _

He was standing there on the platform next to an entrance into the train, stone-faced and rigid, already wearing his black school robes, looking off into the distance. A puff of smoke from the train barrelled up through the cracks and misted around him.

Her teeth clenched together, grounded like a deer in headlights.

As though something had alerted him to being spotted, his eyes scanned through the crowd and fell directly onto  _ her. _

It was as though the entire world around them had been put on pause.

They stared at one another.

She did not dare to breathe.

Her feet said to run to him. The muscles on her face already beginning to work into a stupid, helplessly happy grin. She thought, for a millisecond, to yell out his name, to wave his way, to let out a sigh of relief that he was  _ here _ and it was  _ fine _ and he was  _ okay. _

She thought, that maybe, just maybe, when he realized it was  _ her _ , his face would light up, and he’d send her that oh-so-cocky smile, and everything would make  _ sense. _

And yet.

...And yet.

He averted his gaze from her, as though in slow motion, lips thinning into a frown, eyes bearing no emotion save for a glimpse of sadness; regret.

Rejection.

Her stomach twisted.

With one, slick movement, Oliver pulled the hood of his robes over his head and hid his face, turning to walk into the crowd, disappearing like a ghost.

He had seen her, that she was sure of.

He just… didn’t care.

She felt, suddenly, horribly ill.

A touch on her shoulder made her jolt, time suddenly resuming itself, the bustle around her transmitting back from her subconscious.

“Felicity?” Her mother entreated, appearing behind her, Mr. Lance nowhere to be seen. “Is everything alright? You look pale, sweetheart.”

“Y-yeah, mom,” Felicity recovered quickly, giving her mother a quick, fake smile, fixing her glasses that had gone askew. “I’m fine. Just uh, feeling a little nervous and homesick already--that’s all.”

Wrong words, wrong words,  _ wrong words. _

In an instance her mother scooped her up into a tight embrace that threw her glasses off balance once again.

“Oh,  _ honey, _ ” Donna cooed, “I’ll miss you too! Oh, my baby  _ girl-- _ you know you can always come back home whenever you want, and you know you can always write to me and Quentin will make sure I get your letters--”

Felicity tuned out after that.

She heard her mother continue on, patting down her hair and squeezing her tightly, but her eyes lingered where Oliver had been, an emptiness making home inside her.

Something wasn’t right. Something was off.

He wouldn’t just  _ do _ that.

Or would he?

Did she really know him  _ that _ well after only a few interactions?

She frowned into her mother's shoulder, brainstorming. It just didn’t make any sense. Why now? Why ignore her? It would have been easier not to start at all. For all she knew, maybe he  _ did _ get in trouble with his parents, and had to put on some kind of a farce until they could speak privately.

_ Yeah, _ she thought to herself, gulping.  _ That’s probably it. I just need to get him alone and talk to him and everything will be fine and nothing will hurt. Yup. Good plan, Felicity. _

Finally detaching herself from Donna’s grasp, she gave her mother a small smile when she saw that there were tears in her eyes.

“Mom,” said Felicity, “Don’t cry. Seriously. You  _ always _ do this.”

Her mother sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

“I can’t help it,” she croaked. “You’re my baby, Felicity. I worry about you being out there all on your own… and every time I leave you, I just…It’s so quiet at the house by myself and...”

She trailed off, choking back a sob.

“ _ Mom, _ ” Felicity pushed. “It’s okay. Really. I’ll be home before you know it.”

Donna sniffled, looking over her daughter with watery eyes before nodding curtly.

“I know,” she said softly. “But I’ll still miss you, my girl.”

This time, it was Felicity who pulled her mother into a hug, her eyes threatening tears.

She truly was going to miss her.

“Last call for boarding!” A man’s loud voice echoed through the already roaring train station. 

“Ohh,” her mother whined. “Moment ruiner. At least he  _ sounds _ cute.”

Felicity let out a genuine laugh.

“Ready?” said Sara, who had suddenly appeared beside her. Felicity looked at her, noticing that she, too, was slightly misty-eyed.  _ Must have said goodbye to her father,  _ she thought to herself. Her assumption was confirmed when she spotted Mr. Lance rubbing his face down with both hands, obviously emotional as well.

“Yeah,” Felicity nodded. “I’m ready.”

Together, Sara and Felicity said one last  _ good-bye _ to their respective parents, waving at them even as they were stepping onto the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL HELLO THERE.
> 
> Happy 2016!
> 
> How are you guys doing? Hows your New Year so far? Exciting? Boring? Hectic? All of the above? 'Cause if so, I can totally relate.
> 
> I know this chapter update is extremely late, but such is life. I wish I could promise more consistent updates, but for right now, this is what I can manage. :) 
> 
> So this chapter is kind of angsty and depressing lol. It was also very Oliver-heavy. I actually have a whole portion written that was suppose to be near the end of this chapter between Felicity/Oliver/Diggle but I decided to wait until Chapter 9 to introduce Diggle because the chapter break on here just made way more sense. So, in that sense, Chapter 9 is already started. I know I said Diggle and Hogwarts was coming, but just wait a little longer for me? Please??? :)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy the story i'm setting up for Oliver, as well as the banter between Sara & Felicity (can you tell how much I love their friendship?). Fingers crossed, I'll have Chapter 9 out by mid next month. I'm really excited to write the rest of the chapter! If I can get it up sooner, I totally will!
> 
> Also, YAY for having over 6,000 hits! You guys are so awesome!!! Please leave a comment and tell me what you think! I know this chapter had very little Felicity, but I'll make up for it next chapter, when we get to see her feistyness come to the surface. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Harry Potter or Arrow characters/world. Nothing. NADA. Zilch. :)


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